"
"I will go with you, friar," said Robin.
"By my flask," said the friar, "but you shall not."
"Then I will," said Marian.
"Still less," said the friar, hurrying out of the cell.
Robin and Marian followed: but the friar outstepped them,
and pushed off his boat.
A white figure was visible under the shade of the opposite trees.
The boat approached the shore, and the figure glided away.
The friar returned.
They re-entered the cottage, and sat some time conversing
on the phenomenon they had seen. The friar sipped his wine,
and after a time, said:
"There is a tradition of a damsel who was drowned here some years ago.
The tradition is----"
But the friar could not narrate a plain tale: he therefore cleared
his throat, and sang with due solemnity, in a ghostly voice:
A damsel came in midnight rain,
And called across the ferry:
The weary wight she called in vain,
Whose senses sleep did bury.
At evening, from her father's door
She turned to meet her lover:
At midnight, on the lonely shore,
She shouted "Over, over!"
She had not met him by the tree
Of their accustomed meeting,
And sad and sick at heart was she,
Her heart all wildly beating.
In chill suspense the hours went by,
The wild storm burst above her:
She turned her to the river nigh,
And shouted, "Over, over!"
A dim, discoloured, doubtful light
The moon's dark veil permitted,
And thick before her troubled sight
Fantastic shadows flitted.
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