"With all due respect to Alfred Noyes, to whom the Highwayman belongs, and to the anonymous author of the old Irish ballad, 'Brennan on the Moor' " - John R. Yaws 09/07/01
Cool, the evening shadows…
Which fall across the moor.
The breeze begins to freshen,
And to swing the old inn door.
And as the moon is rising-
I see the maiden's form…
Aye, she's sittin' in the window-
As she often sat before.
'er features rather ghostly,
But she is a maiden fair…
That is a dark red love knot-
Which she braids wi'in 'er 'air.
I'm sure ye ken the story,
Of Bess, an' 'ow she died…
An' the 'ighwayman, 'er lover-
Wha' they buried at 'er side.
'ow the 'ostler did betray them-
From jealousy, 'tis said…
An' of 'ow the story ended-
The both o' them were dead.
The inn's been long deserted,
An' Tim the 'ostler dead.
Slain by sweet Bess's father-
From all accounts I've read.
Yet still they meet each evenin'
An' still their plans are made…
Of ridin' off together-
Jus' after 'is next raid.
'is name were Willie Brennan.
The fact is little known.
'e were my boon companion-
Down a many path we've gone.
They wrote the song aboot 'im-
I'm sure ye've 'eard before.
The 'alf 'as not been told I fear-
O' Brennan on the Moor.
Ah, bu' that's another story-
Me tea is growin' stale…
'Tis another day tomorrow-
An' another Traveler's Tale.
by John R. Yaws