Part One
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon 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 the 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 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 inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip at 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 madness, 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 I' the casement! His face burned 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 reins in the moonlight, 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 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 her casement, with muskets at the 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:
The 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 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 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!
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel 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 veins in the moonlight throbbed to her Love's refrain.
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear--
Tlot-tlot, 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-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-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 him westward; he did not know who stood
Bowed with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, and slowly blanched 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.
Back he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him, and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs I' the golden noon; wine-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, with the 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--riding--
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
And 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.
~Alfred Noyes~
A Question to Ponder
To trap the grave-eyed unicorn,
Our monks and scribes assure
A knight needs not a hunting horn
But a virgin for his lure.
The quarry with the doleful eyes
Has not been seen of late
I wonder if the shortage lies
In unicorns or bait.
~Author Unknown~
Untitled
To catch but one glimpse of perfection
Through space and time, the mind, it flies
But never making such connection
It wings its way back home--and dies.
~Will McCain~
The Moon Enchanter
Oh, darling, lonely moon,
Often seen but seldom touched,
Blocked by the boughs of envious trees,
And the wispy fingers of jealous clouds.
If we were to meet on this earthly plain,
And share a sweet mortal time,
Would you deny the stars and your courtiers,
To share your joy with me?
Please do not forsake me, though,
For I would go blind without your vision,
And, so, resume your heavenly course,
And I shall longingly watch your smile.
~Will McCain~
Kearny Street
The house
on Kearny Street
where I came and went
on weekends
is the same.
The hill above
is summer green
the sky a foggy blue
and children still march by
each day at three o'clock
foraging back from school.
The hill and Kearny Street
are still the same
but I have changed.
No more
the winning smile
the hasty song
the happy stare of love
the young heart
leaping
in the dark room.
And no more
the wild young man
who talked too quickly
and too loud
of love he owned
and wished to give away.
Seldom the sun catches me
lying in bed late
anymore.
Seldom the pigeons
gargling in the grass
see my form
stretched out upon the lawn.
I pace unfamiliar streets now
attempting new solutions
to old problems,
and the answers seldom come.
But there was a time
in the fall and winter
of the year
when the sun's bright yellow
mingled with the fog
and Kearny Street
in San Francisco
was the whole world.
Sometimes I'm sorry
for love once known
it doesn't justify the years
you spend remembering.
I was always timid
about your loving me anyway
knowing the eagle
does not hunt flies
and that worlds were larger
than our love.
But I am happy still
that even for a moment
you laughed in my direction
and chased my nakedness
down a lonely beach.
Maybe six months of love
is worth the lifetime
you spend looking,
and marmalade and oysters
for breakfast one morning
and knowing you tried to love me
is enough.
For love is only moments
here and there
it comes and goes quietly I think.
You hear it like silver bells
tied about the throats of cats
now near--
now sounding far away.
I was loved on Kearny Street.
But no more the young heart
leaping in the dark room.
~Rod McKuen~
