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

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—

“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 in 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
(O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west