The Highwayman
The Highwayman
by Loreena McKennitt
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.
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 lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe skin.
The 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 hilts a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
And 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 dark red love knot into her long dark 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.
If they press me sharply and harry me through the day,
The look for me by the moonlight.
Watch for me by the moonlight.
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way.'
He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosed 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 her hair by the moonlight,
Oh sweet waves in the moonlight.
He tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come at the dawning. He did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny suset 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,
Hell at one dark window.
For Bess could see through the casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention with many a sniggering jest.
They had bound the musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast.
'Now keep good watch,' and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say-
'Look for me by the moonlight.
Watch for me by the moonlight.
I'll come to thee by the 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 last was hers.
The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.
Up, she stood up 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 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,
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 she stood
Bowed with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood.
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
And 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 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.
Still of a winter's night they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon the 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 in door.
by Loreena McKennitt
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.
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 lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe skin.
The 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 hilts a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
And 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 dark red love knot into her long dark 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.
If they press me sharply and harry me through the day,
The look for me by the moonlight.
Watch for me by the moonlight.
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way.'
He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosed 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 her hair by the moonlight,
Oh sweet waves in the moonlight.
He tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come at the dawning. He did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny suset 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,
Hell at one dark window.
For Bess could see through the casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention with many a sniggering jest.
They had bound the musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast.
'Now keep good watch,' and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say-
'Look for me by the moonlight.
Watch for me by the moonlight.
I'll come to thee by the 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 last was hers.
The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.
Up, she stood up 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 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,
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 she stood
Bowed with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood.
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
And 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 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.
Still of a winter's night they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon the 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 in door.
posted by Nanashi Lunam Tenshi at 11:17 PM
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