"The Highwayman"
[please excuse any misspellings and lack of capitalization]
PART ONE

the wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
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 claret-velvet, and breeches of brown doeskin.
they fitted with never a wrinkle. his boots were up to the thigh.
and he rode with a jeweled twinkle,
his pistol butts a-twinkle,
his rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jeweld sky.
over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark innyard.
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 maddness, his hair like moldy 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 tonight,
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,
[oh sweet black waves in the moonlight!]
then he tugged at his rein in the noomlight, 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 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 casement, with muskets ar 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!
she twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
she writher her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
they streached and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
till, now, 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 res.
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 beins, 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 distanc? 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 redcoats looked to their priming!she stoop up, straight and still.
tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
nearer he came and nerer. 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 in the monlight,
shattered hir 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 gray to hear
how bess the landlord's daughter,
the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
head watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness ther.
back, he spurred like a madman, shouting a curse to the sky,
with the shite road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.
blood0red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine0red was his velvet coat;
when they shot hom down on the highway,
down like a dog on the highway
and he lay in his blook 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- riding0
a highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn door.
over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark innyard.
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.