Sir Daniel was a fearless knight;
In doublet green he went to fight.
The yellow plumes upon his head
Like the sun their brightness shed.
He rode no charger in the field,
Waved no banner, bore no shield,
But stood with broad and jagged blade
Challenging rogue and renegade.
Sir Daniel now is getting old;
He's laid aside his plumes of gold;
His hair is soft and silver-white;
He has forgotten how to fight.
Yet still he stands, a little bent,
Dreaming of joust and tournament,
Guarding the children at their play
And telling them the time of day.
(Since, before his youth departed,
He earned the name of 'Lion-hearted',
The children whom he keeps an eye on,
Laughing, call him 'Dan de Lion'.)