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作词 : McKennitt, Noyes |
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The wind was a torrent of darkness |
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Among the gusty trees |
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The moon was a ghostly galleon |
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Tossed upon the cloudy seas |
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The road was a ribbon of moonlight |
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Over the purple moor |
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And the highwayman came riding |
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Riding, riding |
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The highwayman came riding |
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Up to the old inn-door |
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He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead |
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A bunch of lace at his chin |
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A coat of claret velvet |
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And breeches of brown doe-skin |
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They fitted with never a wrinkle |
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His boots were up to the thigh |
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And he rode with a jeweled twinkle |
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His pistol butts a-twinkle |
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His rapier hilt a-twinkle |
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Under the jeweled sky |
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And over the cobbles he clattered |
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And clashed in the dark inn yard |
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And he tapped with his whip on the shutters |
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But all was locked and barred |
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He whistled a tune to the window |
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And who should be waiting there |
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But the landlord's black-eyed daughter |
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Bess, the landlord's daughter |
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Plaiting a dark red love-knot |
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Into her long black hair |
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"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart |
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I'm after a prize tonight |
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But I shall be back with the yellow gold |
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Before the morning light |
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Yet if they press me sharply |
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And harry me through the day |
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Then look for me by the moonlight |
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Watch for me by the moonlight |
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I'll come to thee by the moonlight |
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Though hell should bar the way |
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He rose upright in the stirrups |
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He scarce could reach her hand |
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But she loosened her hair in the casement |
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His face burnt like a brand |
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As the black cascade of the perfume |
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Came tumbling over his breast |
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And he kissed its waves in the moonlight |
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Oh, sweet waves in the moonlight |
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He tugged at his rein in the moonlight |
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And galloped away to the west |
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He did not come at the dawning |
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He did not come at noon |
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And out of the tawny sunset |
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Before the rise o' the moon |
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When the road was a gypsy's ribbon |
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Looping the purple moor |
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A red-coat troop came marching |
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Marching, marching |
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King George's men came marching |
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Up to the old inn-door |
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They said no word to the landlord |
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They drank his ale instead |
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But they gagged his daughter and bound her |
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To the foot of her narrow bed |
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Two of them knelt at the casement |
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With muskets at their side |
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There was death at every window |
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Hell at one dark window |
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For Bess could see through the casement |
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The road that he would ride |
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They had tied her up to attention |
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With many a niggering jest |
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They had bound a musket beside her |
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With the barrel beneath her breast |
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"Now keep good watch", and they kissed her |
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She heard the dead man say |
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"Look for me by the moonlight |
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Watch for me by the moonlight |
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I'll come to thee by the moonlight |
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Though hell should bar the way" |
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She twisted her hands behind her |
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But all the knots held good |
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She writhed her hands till her fingers |
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Were wet with sweat or blood |
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They stretched and strained in the darkness |
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And the hours crawled by like years |
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Till now on the stroke of midnight |
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Cold on the stroke of midnight |
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The tip of one finger touched it |
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The trigger at least was hers |
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Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, had they heard it? |
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The horses hoofs ring clear |
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Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance |
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Were they deaf that they did not hear? |
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Down the ribbon of moonlight |
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Over the brow of the hill |
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The highwayman came riding |
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Riding, riding |
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The red-coats looked to their priming |
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She stood up straight and still |
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Tlot, in the frosty silence |
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Tlot, in the echoing night |
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Nearer he came and nearer |
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Her face was like a light |
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Her eyes grew wide for a moment |
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She drew one last deep breath |
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Then her finger moved in the moonlight |
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Her musket shattered the moonlight |
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Shattered her breast in the moonlight |
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And warned him with her death |
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He turned, he spurred to the west |
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He did not know she stood |
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Bowed with her head o'er the musket |
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Drenched with her own red blood |
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Not till the dawn he heard it |
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His face grew gray to hear |
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How Bess, the landlord's daughter |
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The landlord's black-eyed daughter |
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Had watched for her love in the moonlight |
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And died in the darkness there |
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And back, he spurred like a madman |
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Shrieking a curse to the sky |
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With the white road smoking behind him |
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And his rapier brandished high |
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Blood-red were the spurs in the gold moon |
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Wine-red was his velvet coat |
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When they shot him down on the highway |
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Down like a dog on the highway |
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And he lay in his blood on the highway |
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With the bunch of lace at his throat |
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Still of a winter's night, they say |
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When the wind is in the trees |
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When the moon is a ghostly galleon |
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Tossed upon the cloudy seas |
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When the road is a ribbon of moonlight |
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Over the purple moor |
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A highwayman comes riding |
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Riding, riding |
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A highwayman comes riding |
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Up to the old inn-door |
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