This essay is based on the poem ‘THE HIGHWAY MAN’ by the renowned poet Alfred Noyes

Slicing through the silence came the soft whisper of thuds, Gradually, the sense of hooves approaching became apparent. Only the shimmering amber eyes of the horses were visible. A flash of blood-red cloak could now be seen. A shadowy figure emerged, breaking the cloud of dust. As it came closer, it was not difficult to spot the blood-red cloak that swept the ground, the French-cocked hat sat on his head. The pathway rattled and shook. A rapier peered out from his brown leather belt. The black glossy mask hid his true identity. He thundered past, and again the silence came back. A highwayman.

Tlot…tlot…the horse came to a sudden halt. As he dismounted the Friesian, the cobbled stones froze in fear. He slowly rotated to face the inn and swiftly stepped towards an open window with pretty lace curtains swishing to make itself free. He twisted his lips and hummed the tune that he and his love had made with lots of care and endearment.

Soft steps approached near the windowpane. In just a moment, Bess was standing in front of him with a blackish-red rose tenderly embedded in her hair. The highwayman’s heart skipped a beat and he felt himself drowning in Bess’ dark-black eyes. She pulled the maroon ribbon and released her long black hair. Bess squeezed her fingers into her palms and threw her hair down. He touched her silky-flowing hair, maybe that was the last time they got to touch each other. She stood there, waiting for her love to speak.

Not far away, in a melancholy stable a shadowy figure fell to its knees. His fists began to turn white as he clenched the tight; the moon’s beam of madness shown directly to his bulging eyes. He kicked the hay like goats as he heard the couple talking. He pulled out his mouldy hair that had begun to get drenched in sweat. He said there silently sobbing and being consumed by self-pity. As he listened to them further, his body became tout, his dreams were now like a shattered mirror.

“One kiss, my Bonny sweetheart, I’m after a price tonight,” exclaimed the highwayman trying to touch Bess’ fingertips for the last time.

“But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light. Yet, if the redcoats harry me through the day, then I’ll come back to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.” He gently rose to feel her dark hair. They started at each other but did not notice the pain and despair coming from Tim the Ostler.

Bess’ heart pounded, “I shall wait for thee all my life if I have to.” she spoke softly as she braided her dark hair with a blood red ribbon. Her eyes became a Tarrant of tears while she leaned forward to feel the highwayman’s warm hands. “Come back soon sweeting,” she whispered and stepped back from the window pane while the highway man reluctantly rode away, looking at Bess one last time.

As the sun loses its battle with the moon, the blanket of darkness appeared once again. The shadow of the inn spread all along the purple moor. Pigeons soared across the sky and passed Bess, who was eagerly waiting for her beloved. She stood there tightly gripping her travelling bag. She blinked is fear. There must still no symbol of the velvet cloaked man she was waiting for. Heart sank when rays of moonlight struck her pale face. She turned around to find a candle.

As she was grudgingly preparing to light up a candle, she saw a glowing red spot. Her heart leapt with joy, but just then the spot detached into individual dots. Sweat trickled down her cold cheeks; her heart raced. Her cells froze and anxiety ran up her veins. Rapidly, she rubbed her eyes, her thoughts were right. King George’s men were approaching.