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Dante's
Prayer
The
wind was a torrent of darkness
among the ghastly trees
the moon was a ghostly galleon
tossed upon the cloudy seas
The road was a ribbon of moonlight
over the purple moor
when the highwayman came riding,
riding, riding,
the highwayman came riding
up to the old inn door.
He'd a french cocked hat at his forehead
a bunch of lace at his chin
a coat of claret velvet
and breeches of brown doe-skin
They fitted with nary a wrinkle
his boots were up to the thigh
and he rode with a jeweled twinkle
his pistol butts a-twinkle
his rapier hilt a-twinkle
under the jeweled sky.
And over cobbles he clattered
and clashed in the dark inn-yard
and 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.
"One kiss my bonny sweetheart,
I'm after a prize tonight
But I should 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 the moonlight,
watch for me by the moonlight
I'll come to thee by the moonlight
though hell should bar the way."
He rose up right in the stirrups
he scarce could reach her hand
But she loosened her hair in the casement
his face burned like a brand
As a black cascade of purfume
came tumbling over his breast
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight
oh, sweet waves in the moonlight
He tugged at his rein in the moonlight
and galloped away to the west.
He did not come at 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
looping the purple moor
a redcoat 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 the casement
with muskets at their side
There was death at every window
Hell at one dark window
for Bess could see through the casement
the road that he would ride.
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 the moonlight
watch for me by the moonlight
I'll come to thee by the moonlight
though hell should bar the way."
She twisted her hands behind her
but all the knots held good!
but she writhed her hands 'til 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 her finger touched it
the trigger at least was hers.
Tot-a-lot, tot-a-lot had they heard it?
The horse's hooves rang clear
Tot-a-lot, tot-a-lot in the distance
were they deaf 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.
Tot-a-lot in the frosty silence
Tot-a-lot in the echoing night
nearer he came and nearer
her face was like a light
Her eyes grew wide for a moment
she drew a 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 she stood
bowed with her head o'er 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.
And 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 the spurs in the golden noon
wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway
down like a dog on the highway
And he lay in his blood in the highway
with a bunch of lace at his throat.
Still on a winter's night they say
when the wind is in the trees
When the moon is a ghostly galleon
tossed upon the 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.
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Night
Ride Across The Caucasus
Ride
on through the night, ride on
Ride on through the night, ride on
There are visions, there are memories
There are echoes of thundering hooves
There are fires, there is laughter
There's the sound of a thousand doves
In the velvet of the darkness
By the silhouette of silent trees
They are watching, they are waiting
They are witnessing life's mysteries
Cascading stars on the slumbering hills
They are dancing as far as the sea
Riding o'er the land, you can feel its gentle hand
Leading on to its destiny
Take me with you on this journey
Where the boundaries of time are now tossed
In cathedrals of the forest
In the words of the tongues now lost
Find the answers, ask the questions
Find the roots of an ancient tree
Take me dancing, take me singing
I'll ride on till the moon meets the sea
Skellig
O
light the candle, John
The daylight has almost gone
The birds have sung their last
The bells call all to mass
Sit here by my side
For the night is very long
There's something I must tell
Before I pass along
I joined the brotherhood My books were all to me
I scribed the words of God
And much of history
Many a year was I
Perched out upon the sea
The waves would wash my tears,
The wind, my memory
I'd hear the ocean breathe
Exhale upon the shore
I knew the tempest's blood
Its wrath I would endure
And so the years went by
Within my rocky cell
With only a mouse or bird
My friend; I loved them well
And so it came to pass
I'd come here to Romani
And many a year it took
Till I arrived here with thee
On dusty roads I walked
And over mountains high
Through rivers running deep
Beneath the endless sky
Beneath these jasmine flowers
Amidst these cypress trees
I give you now my books
And all their mysteries
Now take the hourglass
And turn it on its head
For when the sands are still
'Tis then you'll find me dead
O light the candle, John
The daylight is almost gone
The birds have sung their last
The bells call all to mass
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The
Highwayman
The
wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon the 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 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.
Over the cobbles he clattered nd clashed in the dark innyard,
And 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.
"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 the moonlight,
Watch for me by the moonlight,
I'll come to thee by the 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 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 moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come at 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 the casement, with muskets at their side!
there was death at every window
and hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement,
The road that he would ride.
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 the moonlight
Watch for me by the moonlight
I'll come to thee by the 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!
Tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs were ringing clear
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 in the frosty silence! 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 she 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.
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 the 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.
Still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon the 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.
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The
Mummer's Dance
On
either side of the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the world and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road run by
To many-towered Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly
Down to tower'd Camelot;And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers "'tis the fairy
The Lady of Shalott."
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay,
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The Knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady Of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady Of Shalott.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode back to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
he flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra Lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces taro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She looked down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror cracked from side to side;"The curse is come upon me,"
cried
The Lady of Shalott.
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over towered Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott
And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance -With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to towered Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."
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