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My Favourite Poem by Sir Alfred Noyes
03:53 Oct 18 2012
Times Read: 522




The Highwayman a poem by Alfred Noyes







Song sung by Loreena Mckennitt



The Highwayman



The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,

The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,

The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping 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, and a bunch of lace at his chin;

He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.

They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!

And he rode with a jeweled twinkle

His rapier hilt a-twinkle

His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.



Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,

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.



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 mouldy hay,

But he loved the landlord's daughter

The landlord's black-eyed 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 stood 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 sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,

Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight

(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),

And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.



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 over the purple moor,

The redcoat troops 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 by 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 bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!

They had tied a rifle 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, 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 at 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 in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.



Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, 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 redcoats 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 to the West; he did not know who stood

Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!

Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey 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 in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat

When they shot him down in the highway,

Down like a dog in the highway,

And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.



And still on 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 gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,

The highwayman comes riding

Riding riding

The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.



Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,

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



The Highwayman

Alfred Noyes

Wiccan Rede
03:48 Oct 18 2012
Times Read: 526

The Wiccan Rede

This is the long version written by Lady Gwen (Gwynne) Thompson



Bide the Wiccan Redes ye must,

In Perfect Love and Perfect Trust;

Live ye must and let to live,

Fairly take and fairly give;

Form the Circle thrice about,

To keep unwelcome spirits out;

Bind fast the spell every time,

Let the words be spoke in rhyme.



Soft of eye and light of touch,

Speak ye little, listen much;

Deosil go by waxing moon,

Sing and dance the Witches' Rune;

Widdershins go by waning moon,

Chant ye then a baleful tune;

When the Lady's moon is new,

Kiss hand to her times two;

When the moon rides at peak,

Heart's desire then ye seek.



Heed the North wind's mighty gale,

Lock the door & trim the sail;

When the wind comes from the South,

Love will kiss them on the mouth;

When the wind blows from the West,

departed souls have no rest;

When the wind blows from the East,

Expect the new and set the feast.



Nine woods in the cauldron go,

Burn them quick, burn them slow;

Elder be the Lady's tree,

Burn it not or curs'd ye'll be;

When the wind begins to turn,

Soon Beltane fires will burn;

When the wheel has turned to Yule,

light the log, the Horned One rules.



Heed the flower, bush or tree

By the Lady blessed be'

When the rippling waters flow

cast a stone - the truth you'll know;

When ye have & hold a need,

Hearken not to others' greed;

With a fool no seasons spend,

Or be counted as his friend.



Merry meet and merry part

Bright the cheeks, warm the heart;

Mind the threefold law ye should,

Three times bad and three times good;

Whene'er misfortune is enow,

Wear the star upon your brow;

True in troth ever ye be

Lest thy love prove false to thee.



'Tis by the sun that life be won,

And by the moon that change be done;

If ye would clear the path to will,

Make certain the mind be still;

What good be tools without Inner Light ?

What good be magic without wisdom-sight ?

Eight words the Wiccan Rede fulfill -

An it harm none, do what ye will.