midnight
Upon a little rock she stood , To make her invocation : She marked not that the rain-swoll 'n flood Was islanding her station . The tempest mocked her feeble cry : No saint his aid would give her : The flood swelled high and yet more high , And swept her down the river . Yet oft beneath the pale moonlight , When hollow winds are blowing , The shadow of that maiden bright Glides by the dark stream 's flowing . And when the storms of midnight rave , While clouds the broad moon cover , The wild gusts waft across the wave The cry of , `` Over , over ! '' While the friar was singing , Marian was meditating : and when he had ended she said , `` Honest friar , you have misplaced your tradition , which belongs to the aestuary of a nobler river , where the damsel was swept away by the rising of the tide , for which your land-flood is an indifferent substitute . But the true tradition of this stream I think I myself possess , and I will narrate it in your own way : It was a friar of orders free , A friar of Rubygill : At the greenwood-tree a vow made he , But he kept it very ill : A vow made he of chastity , But he kept it very ill . He kept it , perchance , in the conscious shade Of the bounds of the forest wherein it was made : But he roamed where he listed , as free as the wind , And he left his good vow in the forest behind : For its woods out of sight were his vow out of mind , With the friar of Rubygill .