Wednesday, January 5, 2005

   my fav. poem, Highway Man (sang by Loreena Meckinett)
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 ribbon of moonlight
over the purple moor
And the Highwayman comes riding, riding, riding, The Highwayman comes riding
up to the old inn door.

He'd a french cock hat on his forehead
a bunch of lace at his chin
A coat of scarlet velvet
and breeches of brown doe skin
the fit him with never a wrinkle
his boots were up to the thigh
And he rode a jeweled twinkle
his pistol butts a twinkle
his rapier hilt a twinkle
under neath the Jeweled sky

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed
in the dark inn yard
and he tapped his whip at the shutters
but all was locked an barred
but 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
and he plaited a dark red love knot
into her long black 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
but if they shall press me sharply
and harry me through the day
then look for me by the moonlight
watch for me by the moonlight
I'll come to thee by the moonlight
though hell shall 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 cascades of the perfume
came tumbling over his breast
and he kissed it's waves in the moonlight
oh sweet waves in the moonlight
and he tugged at his reigns 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 sunset
before the rise of the moon
The road was a gypsies 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 but drank his ale instead.
But they gagged his daughter and bound her
to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them kneeled in the casement
with muskets at the side
there was death at every window
hell at one dark window
and bess could see through the casement
the road that he would ride.

They had her tied her up to attention
many a snickering jest
They had a musket beside her
a 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 the by the moonlight
though Hell should bar the way

She writhed 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 on by like years
Till now on the stroke of midnight
Cold on the stroke of midnight
The tip of her finger touched touched it
the trigger at least was hers

Tlot-Tlot had they heard it?
THe horses-hoofs were ringing clear
Tlot-tlot in the distance,
were they deaf they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moon light
over the brow of the hill
The Highwayman came riding, riding, riding
the red coat troops looked to their priming!
She stood up straight and still
Tlot in the forsty silence
Tlot in echoy night
Nearer he came and nearer
Her face was like a light.
Her eyes grew wide for a moment
she drew her last deep breath.
Then her finger moved in the moonlight
her musket shattered in 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 black eyed daughter
had watched for her love in the moonlight
and died in the darkness there.

And back he spurred like a mad man
shrieking a curse to the sky
with the white road smoking behind him
his rapier brandished high
Blood red were his spurs i' the golden noon
whine 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
the bunch of lace at his throat.

Still of a winter's night they say
when the wind is in the trees
the moon is a ghostly galleon
tossed upon the cloudy seas
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.
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