Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horehoofs ringing clear; Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did nit 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.
We got him
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 deer 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 musket, drenched with her own blood! Not till the dawn he heardIt, and his face grew grey to hear How Bess, the landlord's 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 on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a 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 toossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding-Riding-riding- A highway man 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.