Rowlands sword

In Charlemagne's court, a sword so bright, Durendal's gleam, a warrior's light. Gift from an angel, pure and true, Roland's hand its fate it knew. At Roncevaux Pass, the battle raged, With Durendal, Roland engaged. Foes fell before its mighty edge, In valor's name, his solemn pledge. Relics of saints within its hilt, Faith and courage, deeply built. Unbreakable, it stood the test, In legend's lore, it finds its rest. As Roland fell, his end in sight, He tried to break it with his might. Embedded in the cliff it stayed, In Rocamadour, where prayers are laid. Though Roland's voice is silenced now, His legacy, we still endow. The sword remains, a symbol grand, Of bravery in a noble hand. In history's pages, tales unfold, Of knights and swords, both brave and bold. Durendal shines through time's long night, A beacon of undying light. O Durendal, the warrior's pride, In Roland's grip, you never died. A testament to strength and will, In stories told, you live on still. you live on still.