On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere yon boune ye to rest, <br />Ever beware that your couch be bless'd; <br />Sign it with cross, and sain it with bead, <br />Sing the Ave, and say the Creed. <br /> <br />For on Hollow-Mass Eve the Night-Hag will ride, <br />And all her nine-fold sweeping on by her side. <br />Whether the wind sing lowly or loud, <br />Sailing through moonshine or swath'd in the cloud. <br /> <br />The Lady she sate in St. Swithin's Chair, <br />The dew of the night has damped her hair: <br />Her cheek was pale - but resolved and high <br />Was the word of her lip and the glance of her eye. <br /> <br />She mutter'd the spell of Swithin bold, <br />When his naked foot traced the midnight wold, <br />When he stopp'd the Hag as she rode the night, <br />And bade her descend, and her promise plight. <br /> <br />He that dare sit on St. Swithin's Chair, <br />When the Night-Hag wings the troubled air, <br />Questions three, when he speaks the spell, <br />He may ask, and she must tell. <br /> <br />The Baron has been with King Robert his liege, <br />These three long years in battle and siege; <br />News are there none of his weal or his woe, <br />And fain the Lady his fate would know. <br /> <br />She shudders and stops as the charm she speaks;- <br />Is it the moody owl that shrieks? <br />Or is that sound, betwixt laughter and scream, <br />The voice of the Demon who haunts the stream? <br /> <br />The moan of the wind sunk silent and low, <br />And the roaring torrent had ceased to flow; <br />The calm was more dreadful than raging storm, <br />When the cold grey mist brought the ghastly form!<br /><br />Sir Walter Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/st-swithin-s-chair/
