Highland Sword (Royal Highlander #3)

On Hallow-Mass Eve . . .

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The Lady she sat in St. Swithin’s Chair,

The dew of the night has damped her hair:

Her cheek was pale—but resolved and high

Was the word of her lip and the glance of her eye.

She muttered the spell of Swithin bold,

When his naked foot traced the midnight world,

When he stopped the Hag as she rode the night,

And bade her descend, and her promise plight.

He that dare sit on St. 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.

— Sir Walter Scott from “St. Swithin’s Chair”