Продолжительность mp3: 10:20
Дата добавления: 2016-10-30
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
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 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 innyard,
And 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.
"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 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 cascade of the perfume came tumbling over his breast
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet waves in the moonlight)
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 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 the casement, with muskets at their side
there was death at every window, hell at one dark window
For Bess could see, through the 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 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 shall 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
Tlot-tlot Had they heard it? The horses hoofs ring clear
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 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
Not till the dawn he heard it his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the l