At Rencesvals they gathered, the rear guard
Charged to protect the king
Twenty-thousand feeling no dread of death
A treachery revealed, ambushed by the Pagan army
Four hundred thousand numbered the Saracen horde

Honor-bound they stand forth, Sword held high
Roland spurs them to war
Die in glory or join cowards in Hell
And though their death is sealed, Roland sounds his mighty call
The king will avenge what the Pagans have wrought

Oh hear my cry! With Durendal I fight!
And when I die, with Durendal I'll lie

Oh hear my cry! With Durendal I fight!
And when I die, with Durendal I'll lie

I will never go back, never retreat, rather that I meet death
I will never go back, never retreat, even unto my death