by Alfred Noyes · 1906 · 4 min. læsetid · 102 linjer
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 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 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 thereBut 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 creakedWhere 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—
“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.”
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 brandAs 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 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 gipsy’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 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 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!
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 to the West; he did not know who stoodBowed, 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 hearHow 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;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 thereBut the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,Bess, the landlord’s daughter,Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Hvad det betyder, linje for linje
Linje 1 til 18: The opening turns the night into a dramatic landscape: wind becomes darkness in motion, the moon a ship, and the road a shining ribbon. Repeated riding sounds carry the highwayman toward the inn. His rich clothes and glittering weapons make him striking, while Bess’s red hair knot introduces the love story.
Linje 19 til 36: Tim listens unseen because he also loves Bess, adding tension to the meeting. The highwayman promises to return with gold, even if pursuit delays him until night. His repeated promise makes moonlight a sign of their bond. Bess lets down her hair, which he kisses before riding away.
Linje 37 til 54: The highwayman fails to return by daylight, and soldiers reach the inn at sunset. Their marching echoes his earlier riding but brings danger instead of romance. They bind and gag Bess, place a musket against her breast, and prepare an ambush. His remembered promise now sounds ominous because she can see the road leading him into their trap.
Linje 55 til 78: Bess struggles until she can reach the musket’s trigger, then waits quietly to avoid alerting the soldiers. Slow descriptions of her efforts give way to repeated hoofbeats as her lover approaches. With escape impossible, she uses the weapon against herself. The shot kills her but warns him, turning her helpless position into a final act of protection.
Linje 79 til 90: The highwayman escapes without knowing who fired the warning. At dawn he learns that Bess died for him. His return reverses his flight: grief and fury drive him openly toward danger with his sword raised. The soldiers kill him on the road, and the blood around his once-glittering clothes replaces the earlier image of romantic splendor.
Linje 91 til 102: The ending presents the lovers’ return as a story people tell about winter nights. Images and actions from the opening reappear: the ship-like moon, the bright road, the tapping whip, and Bess at her window. This circular structure preserves their meeting beyond death while leaving its ghostly reality within the poem’s reported legend.
