The wind was a torrent of darkness among the
gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon the
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.
He'd a french cocked-hat on his forehead,
a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of claret velvet, and breeches of brown
doe skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots
were up to the thigh.
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled
sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed
in the dark inn-yard.
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 dark red love-knot into her long
black hair.
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket
creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was
white and peaked.
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair
like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter.
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the
robber say -
'One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after
a prize to-night,
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'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell
should bar the way.'
He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce
could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement.
His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling
over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight,
and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning. He did not
come at noon.
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise
o' 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 said no word to the landlord. They drank
his ale instead.
But they gagged his daughter, and bound her,
to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets
at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement,
the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many
a sniggering jest.
They had bound a musket beside her, with the
muzzle beneath 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'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell
should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her; but all
the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were
wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness,
and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger
at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it. She strove
no more for the rest.
Up, she stood to attention, with the muzzle
beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing; she would
not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight,
throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The
horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance! Were
they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow
of the hill.
The highwayman came riding, Riding, Riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She
stood up, straight and still.
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot,
in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like
a light.
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 to the west; he did
not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched
with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face
grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight,
and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shouting a
curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and
his rapier brandished high
Blood-red were the spurs i' the golden noon;
wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with
the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still of a winters 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.