JoanUK300

My son has got to learn a poem for school but can`t remember what it is called!!!!!!! All he can remember is 'where the trees hang hollow' and he thinks the title is The Highwaymans Hollow........I haven`t got a clue so can anyone enlighten me please?????????

Ta..
Joan.

damian666

Got it!

Bear with me a mo!!!

damian666

The Highwayman
PART ONE

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 inndoor.

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 doeskin;
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 dard 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.

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 moldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and heard the robber say--

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before 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 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.


PART TWO

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 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 fo 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 rest!
Up, she stood 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? This 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 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 gray to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlords black-eyed daughter,
Had watched her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shreiking a curse to the sky,
with the white road smoking behind him, and his rapier brain dished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' 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 his blood on the highway, with a 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 cluody 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 there
But the landlord's daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

farmer1

There is a poem called The Highwaymans Poem

Although it is seeming rather difficult to find.

jods

I'd give a fellow parent a call

Get the Correct Title and/or Author and Google should do the trick

fast bloke

I remember doing something like this - The poem was about a highway man who hid in hollow trees for the ambush - Eventually a local stabbed him while he was hiding in the tree - It was a fair few years ago, but the bits I remember include Charing Road, and a reference to 'firth corner' or 'fifth corner' or 'frith corner' (never paid that much attention) which is now apparently called fright corner.

Might have been called 'the highwayman of puckley' or similar.

We did cover 3 alternative peoms of the same story, so the above might me a combination of one or more of the alternatives.

I wish you hadn't posted this - It will bug me for ages - I won't be able to enjoy Christmas dinner worrying about memory loss

JoanUK300

Thanks guys........not sure he is going to memorise all that......he`s only 9

Joan.

fast bloke

Joan - The one we did was in first year - now year 8? aged 11 - I think it was a sonnet - (14 lines) so probably a bit more achievable for a 9 yo.

Learning Noye's Highwayman at anything less than degree level would be a bit of a push

damian666

Is this on a similar vein to the monks with no faces poem?

Damian

fast bloke

dunno - we didn't do the monks with no faces?


just googled monks with no faces and came up with 'You have been using too much pro plus'

damian666

We covered it in year 8 (ish??) and regarded a man who was on a journey, and met a man/monk who eventually pulled back his hood to reveal no face or no head?

Ah well, its all memories!

Damian

fast bloke

all fuzzy memories - mabye the 20000 pints I have had since then had clouded my memory - or maybe i just can't remember the faces

damian666

My only real memories of studying poetry start and end at dulce et decorum est.

Bloody war poetry

Damo

fast bloke

I am bent double reading this nearly choked - now i am coughing like an old hag


Now - wheres me boots

fast bloke

btw - we had to learn that in english and latin - some time later I discovered that Owen didn't even write the feking thing in latin - bastid english lit teachers

damian666

Bet they thought it was a 'GAS!' though

jods

pro patria mori