114 POETICAL LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
not been an angered, to have seen Black Ralph swim¬ 
ming like a duck in his heavy armor; and as for 
Hubert, my henchman, I scarce could draw the helmet 
off his ears, so tightly was it fitted on when he pitched 
with his head upon the drawbridge. By our Lady ! 
he is a bold and a daring knave, and hath as great a 
love for this Daisy as ever Chaucer had, maugre all 
the choice rhymes he hath made about it.” And the 
worthy old knight laughed so heartily, as he pictured 
his followers splashing about in the moat, that his 
visor slipped down, and he was compelled to call on 
his esquire, to unbuckle the fastenings of his helmet. 
Pass we over the long, ride of the young lovers, 
followed by their attendants, through the wild avenues 
of the forest, the couch which the knight made among 
the broad-leaved Fern when the Daisy of the Dale 
was weary, and the blue Harebells that nodded about 
her beautiful head while she slept. Love was their 
guide, and lighted their way through the darksome 
forest-paths — guiding them over many a wild wold 
and lonely moor, until he brought them beneath the 
walls of the city where her father was encamped. 
Wroth was that old knight when he heard that his 
castle was besieged, and he vowed, by the blood of the 
