lirik lagu david shaw-parker - the highwayman
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 c~cked~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 b~tts 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 h~ll should bar the way.”
he rose upright in the stirrups. he scarce could reach her hand
but she loosened her hair in the cas~m~nt. 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
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 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 cas~m~nt, with muskets at their side!
there was death at every window;
and h~ll at one dark window;
for bess could see, through her cas~m~nt, the road that he would ride
they had tied her up to attention, with many a sn~ggering 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 h~ll 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 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 horsehoofs 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 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, shrieking 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 inn~yard
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 the landlord’s black~eyed daughter
bess, the landlord’s daughter
plaiting a dark red love~knot into her long black hair
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