THE DAISY OF THE DALE. 109 
ful guide the reins of a milk-white palfrey, or forest- 
nymph more lovely cleave the morning air in her 
flight, than she who sat sole queen of the chase, light 
as a bird upon her rounded saddle. The very hawk 
which was perched upon her wrist seemed to look into 
her face with love, and when he hovered high in the 
air in pursuit of the quarry, he needed no other lure 
than her eyes to bring him back again to his stand. 
Even in the banquet-hall of her father’s ancient castle, 
when the stormy and mail-clad sons pf war sat around 
the board, talking of moats they had crossed, and 
turrets they had scaled, of the lances they had shiv¬ 
ered, and the helmets their heavy battle-axes had 
cloven, if they but once heard her light foot upon the 
dais, their conversation was changed to that of love, 
instead of war, — such softness breathed around the 
presence of the Daisy of the Dale. She seemed like 
the Spirit of Peace alighting in the midst of those 
armed warriors upon a mission of love — as if the 
white folds of her floating tunic were a more impene¬ 
trable armor than the linked mail in which their 
sinewy limbs were sheathed, and the rim of Daisies 
which were twined within the silken braid that fet¬ 
tered her floating ringlets, a safer helmet than any 
