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Şarkı Sözü
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 and 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 shall 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 the perfume 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 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, 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 shall 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 horses hoofs ring 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.

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 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.

Etiketler: Loreena McKennitt

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Şarkı Sözü
January, 1992 - Just performed in Santiago de Compostella in the Galician area
of Spain...misty and lush as we arrived from more arid areas of the country;
clearly Celtic territory in the language and music, and a place I must visit
again soon...We arrived a day early; band et al went for a wonderful Sunday
lunch and then wandered over to the cathedral to observe the wonderful faces on
the Portico.

May, 1992 - Santiago de Compostella (St. James in the Field of Stars)...had
occasion to return to Galicia and Santiago sooner than I'd thought...I learned
the story behind the city. Supposedly the remains of St. James arrived
mysteriously in the village of Padron (which we visited...lovely line of trees
along the waterway leading to the place where the relics were found) and
interred here in Santiago...I picked up a CD collection of music emanating from
the pilgrimage route to Santiago, as well as a CD by Spanish group Els
Trobadors...wonderful feeling to this music.

May, 1993 - Now studying liner notes, books and pieces of music, putting
together a clearer picture of Santiago in the years 900 to 1500 when it
rivalled Jerusalem and Rome as a pilgrimage destination, playing host to a
motley tide of humanity pursuing both religious and more earthy goals. It was
also the site of unprecedented cross-cultural fertilization between the
Christian, Jewish and Moorish communities. When I heard this piece, I was
struck by its Semitic tone, and realised that, even in the area of music, the
three communities were influencing each other.

Janvier 1992 - Je viens de donner un spectacle a Saint-Jacques-de-Compostelle,
en Galice, dans le nord de l'Espagne...brumeux et luxuriant en comparaison des
contrees plus arides du reste du pays; un territoire nettement celtique par sa
langue et sa musique, un endroit que je dois revenir visiter bientot...Nous
sommes arrives une journee a l'avance; toute l'equipe s'est retrouvee pur un
magnifique dejeuner du dimanche, pous s'est promenee jusqu'a la cathedrale pour
admirer le splendic portique.

Mai 1992 - Saint-Jacques-de-Compostelle (Saint-Jacques das le Champ des
etoiles)...j'ai eu l'occasion de revenir en Galice et a Siant-Jacques plus vite
que je ne l'esperais...J'ai appris l'histoire de la fondation de cette ville.
Selon la legende, le corps de Saint-Jacques serait arrive mysterieusement dans
la ville de Padron (que nous avons visitee... une belle rangee d'arbres le long
du cours d'eau menant jusqu'a la place ou les reliques furent decouvertes) et
aurait ete enterre ici a Saint-Jacques...J'ai achete une collection de disques
compacts de musique de la route du pelerinage vers Compostelle, et un disque du
groupe espagnol Els Troubadors.

Mai 1993 - J'etudie maintenant des notes, des livres et des oeuvres musicales,
pour me forger une image plus claire de Saint-Jacques-de-Compostelle dans les
annees 900 a 1500, quand la cite rivalisait avec Jerusalem et Rome comme lieu
de pelerinage; elle etait l'hote de vagues humaines bigarrees, motivees par des
aspirations religieuses mais egalement plus terre a terre. Elle etait aussi le
centre d'echanges d'une fecondite sans precedent entre les communautes
chretiennes, juives et musulmanes. Quand j'ai entendu cette oeuvre, j'ai ete
frappee par sa tonalite semitique et j'ai realise que, meme dans le domaine
musical, les trois civilisations s'influencaient les unes les autres.

Januar 1992 - Bin gerade in Santiago de Compostella, im galizischen Teil
Spaniens, aufgetreten...dunstig und ueppig im Vergleich zu den mehr duerren
Gegenden Spaniens, aus denen wir gerade kamen; ganz eindeutig sprachlich und
musikalisch keltisch beeinflusstes Gebiet, eine Gegend, die ich bald wieder
besuchen moechte...Wir kamen einen Tag zu frueh an, die Band und ich gingen
essen und nach einem wunderbaren Sonntags-Mittagessen sind wir zur Kathedrale
hinueber gebummelt, um uns das wundervolle Gesicht auf dem Portikus anzusehen.

Mai 1992 - Santiago de Compostella (der heilige Jakob im Feld der
Sterne)...Hatte schneller die Gelegenheit, nach Galizien und Santiago
zurueckzukehren, als ich dachte...Ich erfuhr die Geschichte, die der Stadt
anhaengt. Anscheinend gelangten die Ueberreste des heiligen Jakob auf
mysterioese Weise in die Stadt Padron (welche wir auch besuchten...eine
huebsche Baumreihe zieht sich entlang des Wasserweges, der zu dem Fundort
fuehrt) und wurden dann hier in Santiago begraben. Ich fand eine CD-Sammlung
mit Musik, die von der Pilgerfahrt nach Santiago stammt und noch eine CD der
spanischen Gruppe Els Trobadors.

Mai 1993 - Beschaftige mich jetzt mit Notizen, Buechern und Musikstuecken, um
mir ein klares Bild von Santiago aus der Zeit 900 - 1500 machen zu koennen, das
zu der Zeit mit Jerusalem und Rom als Pilgerziel rivalisierte, und zu der Zeit
eine kunterbunte Welle der Menschlichkeit beherbergte, die sich religioese wie
auch irdische Ziele gesetzt hatte. Es war ausserdem der Schauplatz einer bisher
nie dagewesenen interkulturellen Befruchtung zwischen den Christen, Juden und
der maurischen Bevoelkerung. Als ich dieses Stueck hoerte, erstaunte mich der
semitische Klang, und mir wurde klar, dass sich diese drei Gruppen auch in der
Musik gegenseitig beeinflussten.

Enero de 1992 - acabo de actuar en Santiago de Compostela, Galicia...region
mistica y excuberante sobre todo llegando de zonas mas aridas del pais;
claramente es territorio celta por su lenguaje y su musica. y un sitio al que
tengo que volver pronto...Llegamos temprano; el grupo y yo nos fuimos a tomar
una esplendida comida de domingo y luego vagamos por la catedral para ver el
maravilloso Portico de la Gloria.

Mayo de 1992 - Santiago de Compostela...tuve la oportunidad de volver a Galicia
y a Santiago antes de lo que esperaba...Aprendi la historia de la ciudad.
Supuestamente los restos de Santiago llegaron misterisamente a la ciudad de
Padron y fueron enterrados en la ciudad de Santiago...Cogi una recopilacion en
CD de musica del camino de Santiago y un CD de un grupo espanol llamado Els
Trobadors.

Mayo de 1993 - estoy estudiando notas, libros y piezas musicales, intentado
reunir una imagen mas clara de Santiago desde el ano 900 hasta el 1500, cuando
rivalizaba con las peregrinaziones a Jerusalem y a Roma, ofreciendo a sus
huespedes vertientes humanas mas varidas, persiguiendo al mismo tiempo metas
religiosas y terrenales. Fue tambien un fertilismo emplazamiento de cruce de
culturas sin ningun precedente: las comunidades cristinas, judias y musulmanas.
Cuando escuche esta pieza, quede atrapada por su tono semitico, y fui
consciente de que, incluso en el campo de la musica, las tres comunidades se
habian influido entre ellas.

Etiketler: Loreena McKennitt

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Şarkı Sözü
Bonfires dot the rolling hillsides
Figures dance around and around
To drums that pulse out echoes of darkness
Moving to the pagan sound.

Somewhere in a hidden memory
Images float before my eyes
Of fragrant nights of straw and of bonfires
Dancing 'til the next sunrise.

CHORUS:
I can see the lights in the distance
Trembling in the dark cloak of night
Candles and lanterns are dancing, dancing
A waltz on All...All Souls Night.

Figures of cornstalks bend in the shadows
Held up tall as the flames leap high
The Green Knight holds the holly bush
To mark where the Old Year passes by.

CHORUS

Bonfires dot the rolling hillsides
Figures dance around and around
To drums that pulse out echoes of darkness
Moving to the pagan sound.

Standing on the bridge that crosses
The river that goes out to the sea
The wind is full of a thousand voices
They pass by the bridge and me.

Etiketler: Loreena McKennitt

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Etiketler: Loreena McKennitt

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Şarkı Sözü
A clouded dream on an earthly night
Hangs upon the crescent moon
A voiceless song in an ageless light
Sings at the coming dawn
Birds in flight are calling there
where the heart moves the stones
there that my heart is longing for
All for, for the love of you

A painting hangs on an ivy wall
Nestled in the emerald moss
The eyes declare a truce of trust
then it draws me far away
deep in the desert twilight
Sand melts in pools of the sky
darkness lays her crimson cloak
lamps will call, call me home

And so it's there my homage's due
Clutched by the still of the night
now I feel, feel you move
And every breath, breath is full
So it's there my homage's due
Clutched by the still of the night
Even the distance feels so near
All for, for the love of you

A clouded dream on an earthly night
Hangs upon the crescent moon
A voiceless song in an ageless light
Sings at the coming dawn
Birds in flight are calling there
Where the heart moves the stones
there that my heart is longing for
All for, for the love of you

Etiketler: Loreena McKennitt