� 2001-2006 by Shiloh
�
blahSecond entry today...
I don't know why, but this is one of my favorite narrative poems. Perhaps because it's a love story, or perhaps because there's the danger and excitement of the highwayman's existence. Perhaps it's a combination of both. However the case, I thought it apropos for ending my Halloween celebration this year... A love story and ghost story, all rolled into one.The Highwayman
PART ONEI
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.II
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 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.III
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shuters, 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.IV
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 mouldy 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�V
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
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."VI
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' 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 moonliglt, and galloped away to the West.
PART TWO I
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' 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 matching, up to the old inn-door.II
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 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.III
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 moonlight;
������Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!IV
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!V
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.VI
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!VII
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.VIII
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 red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, 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.IX
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.********
X
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.XI
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.Alfred Noyes
Yesterday--it seems longer than that...perhaps it's the Time Change?--Mom and I watched a documentary on haunted houses across America. The first story I came in on was of a young Mulatto(sp?) woman in New Orleans during the Old South. Her name was Julie and she was beautiful. She fell in love on the night of her first(?) ball with a rich, young and handsome heir to a plantation. He asked her to be his mistress, and for awhile they were happy tucked away in their private love nest. But Julie wanted marriage; she wanted to bear her lover's children. She didn't care about the racial rules of the day. However, her lover, though he loved her very much, wasn't at all sure they could weather the racial tensions and predjudices were they to marry. In addition to that, he would be disowned if he followed through with the marriage. To prove to him she could weather the storm, she climbed to the roof and braved the thunder, the lightning and torrential rain. Her lover found her there, naked, hours later. Foolishly, impulsively, she had died from exposure. Julie's love followed her in death, heartbroken, two months later. Unable to be together outside their haven in society, perhaps they are together in death.
Just like Bess and her highwayman. It's sad, in a way, when lovers cannot be together in life, that they are kept apart by others, or by the predjudices of the day. Yet, there is definitely a feeling of triumph and happiness in knowing or believing they'll be together in death forever. That no one and nothing has the right or power, beyond God, to tear them apart.
I also thought it was appropriate, or more precisely apt, to end the night and holiday with a ghostly tale as my mood or avatar's costume is a phantom. For some reason, this year being a ghost appealed to my Halloween sensibilities.
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