"The silver moon is slowly, slowly rising
The night is clear and all the clouds are fled,
Their midnight prayer the weary monks are chanting;
Now I may leave my cold and stony bed."


Then the monks chanted in their low, measured tones,


"Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis!
Mater Christi, ora, ora!"
"Cursed be my lot, but useless is repining,
Here must I stay till dreary day is gone,
Living only in the pale moon's shining;
To-night my hated penance though is done.
Gaily, gaily, gaily I'll live
Though I be but a spirit of air;
Every pleasure the world can give
Shall be mine while the moon shines fair.

The Devil in Hell has promised me
That if I gain him a soul
I shall be forever from that time free,
So long as the Rhine shall run to the sea
And the Maine shall Rhineward roll."


And from the heights above the echo came,--"Roll--roll."