midnight
Saint Swithin 's Chair On Hallow-Mass Eve , ere ye boune ye to rest , Ever beware that your couch be bless 'd ; Sign it with cross , and sain it with bead , Sing the Ave , and say the Creed . For on Hallow-Mass Eve the Night-Hag will ride , And all her nine-fold sweeping on by her side , Whether the wind sing lowly or loud , Sailing through moonshine or swath 'd in the cloud . The Lady she sat in Saint Swithin 's Chair , The dew of the night has damp 'd her hair : Her cheek was pale ; but resolved and high Was the word of her lip and the glance of her eye . She mutter 'd the spell of Swithin bold , When his naked foot traced the midnight wold , When he stopp 'd the Hag as she rode the night , And bade her descend , and her promise plight . He that dare sit on Saint Swithin 's Chair , When the Night-Hag wings the troubled air , Questions three , when he speaks the spell , He may ask , and she must tell . The Baron has been with King Robert his liege These three long years in battle and siege ; News are there none of his weal or his woe , And fain the Lady his fate would know . She shudders and stops as the charm she speaks ; -- Is it the moody owl that shrieks ?