PART ONE

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.

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 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 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,
(O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight,
and galloped away to the west.

PART TWO

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 redcoat troop came marching -
Marching-marching-
King George’s men came marching,
up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landIord,
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 doomed 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!