With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.īlood red were his spurs in the golden noon wine-red was his velvet coat Īnd he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.Īnd still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.īack, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear He spurred to the west he did not know who stoodīowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own blood! Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death. Her eyes grew wide for a moment she drew one last deep breath, Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night! The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still. Tlot-tlot tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?ĭown the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, Tlot-tlot tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear She would not risk their hearing she would not strive again Īnd the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain. Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast. The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers! They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! She twisted her hands behind her but all the knots held good! I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
“ Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her. They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast! They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest. Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!įor Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride. They drank his ale instead.īut they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed. King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door. When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor, He did not come at noon Īnd out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon, Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west. His face burnt like a brandĪs the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast Īnd he kissed its waves in the moonlight, He scarce could reach her hand,īut she loosened her hair in the casement. I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.” Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, “One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to- night,īut I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,ĭumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say. Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.Īnd dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred. Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard. His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky. He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,Ī coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin. The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door. The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
#Different moods of poems torrent
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
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