מילים לשיר The Highwayman – 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
Riding, riding,
And the highwayman came riding,
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of claret velvet, and breeches of brown doeThey fitted with never a wrinkle, his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts aHis rapier hilt a
Over the cobbles he clattered nd clashed in the dark innyard,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
But the landlord's blackBess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light,
Then look for me by the moonlight,
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Watch for me by the moonlight, I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way.
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
He rose upright in the stirrups, he scarce could reach her hand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
Then he tugged at his rein 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 o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A redMarching, marching
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn
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 the casement, with muskets at their side!
and hell at one dark window,
there was death at every window
The road that he would ride.
For Bess could see, through the casement,
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest, They had bound a 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 trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it! TlotTlotDown the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The redShe stood up straight and still! Tlot in the frosty silence! 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 she stood
bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
The landlord's blackHad watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky
Bloodwhen 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 inn-door.