The Highwayman

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding, riding, riding- The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn yard And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred; He whistled a tune to the window and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter Plaiting a red love-knot into her long black hair.

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, Then look for me by moonlight, watch for me by moonlight, I will come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon, When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, A red-coat troop came marching, marching, marching- King George's men came marching, up to the old inn door.

They tied her up to attention, with many a sickening jest, And they bound a musket beside her, with the barrel to her breast. "Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say, "Look for me by moonlight, watch for me by moonlight, I will come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."

"Look for me by moonlight." The hoof-beats ringing clear. "Watch for me by moonlight." Were they deaf they did not hear? Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight, her musket shattered the moonlight Shattered her breast in the moonlight, and warned him - with her death.

He turned, he spurred him westward; he did not know who stood Bowed with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood. Not 'til the dawn he heard it; his face grew gray to hear How Bess, the landlord's daughter, the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love by moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him, and his rapier brandished high! Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat, When they shot him down on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding, riding, riding- A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn door.