DROOPING DAISY. 
89 
in the red heat of the blinding furnace: for it was 
such beauty as she possessed that first softened 
down the fierce spirit of English chivalry, and 
tamed the savage grandeur of feudal warfare. Love 
had before seen her when, sad and pensive, she 
paced the garden after her mother’s death, when 
the youthful knight she loved was absent, but so 
wan and woe-begone was she then, that he would 
scarcely have recognised in the angelic form on the 
palfrey the 
DROOPING DAISY. 
Beside a richly sculptured urn, 
The Daisy of the Dale was kneeling, 
The tears were down her fair cheeks stealing, 
And many an outward sign revealing 
How deeply her young heart did mourn; 
She held a portrait to her breast, 
And sighing said, “ Oh, be at rest! 
Hush, heart I he will again return.” 
Her glance upon the picture fell, 
She kissed the face she loved so well, 
How she turned red, again was pale, 
Just like the Daisy of the Dale, 
