Ha, la belle blanche aubepine!
Soldans seven hath he slain in fight,
Honneur e la belle Isoline!

"Sir Ralph he rideth in riven mail,
Ha, la belle blanche aubepine!
Beneath his nasal is his dark face pale,
Honneur e la belle Isoline!

"His eyes they blaze as the burning coal,
Ha, la belle blanche aubepine!
He smiteth a stave on his gold citole,
Honneur e la belle Isoline!

"From her mangonel she looketh forth,
Ha, la belle blanche aubepine!
'Who is he spurreth so late to the north?'
Honneur e la belle Isoline!

"Hark! for he speaketh a knightly name,
Ha, la belle blanche aubepine!
And her wan cheek glows as a burning flame,
Honneur e la belle Isoline!

"For Sir Ralph he is hardy and mickle of might,
Ha, la belle blanche aubepine!
And his love shall ungirdle his sword to-night,
Honneur e la belle Isoline!"

Such is the romantic, esoteric, old French way of saying -