The Highwayman


The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly gallion tossed upon cloudy seas,
the ground was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moore,
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 the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doeskin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle, his boots were up to the thigh.
And he rode with a jeweled tinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed, in the dark innyard.
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 innyard, a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like moldy 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 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'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 in 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 moonliglt, and galloped away to the west.
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 moore,
A redcoat troop cam 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 casment, 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 bound her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
they had bound a musket beside here, with the mussel 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 stoke 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 here veins in the moonlight throbbed to here 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 come riding--
riding--riding--
the redcoats 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 on last deep breath.
The 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 blood.
Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew gray 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 his spurs in 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 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.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs, in the dark innyard.
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.