Luyện nghe bài hát Highwayman

The wind was a torrent of
Among the gusty
The moon was a ghostly
Tossed upon cloudy
And the road was a of moonlight
the purple moor
And the came riding, riding, riding
Yes, the highwayman riding
Up to the old inn
the cobbles he clattered
And in the darkened yard
And he tapped with his at the window
But all was and barred
So he whistled a to the window
And who be waiting there
But the landlord's black daughter
Bess the daughter
Plaiting a dark red knot
Into her long hair
One kiss, my bonny
For I'm after a tonight
But I shall be back with the gold
the morning light
Yet if press me sharply
me through the day
Oh, then for me by moonlight
for me by moonlight
And I'll to thee by moonlight
Hell should bar the way
He did not at the dawning
No, he did not at the noon
And out of the sunset
before the of the moon
When the was a gypsy's ribbon
Looping the purple
Oh a redcoat troop came marching, marching,
King George's men came
Up to the old inn
And bound the landlord's daughter
with a sniggering jest
And they bound the musket her
With the beneath her breast
Now keep good watch and kissed her
She the dead man say
"Oh for me by moonlight
Watch for me by
And come to thee by moonlight
Though Hell bar the way"
Look for me by
beats ringing clear
Watch for me by
they deaf that they did not hear
For he rode on the highway
She one final breath
Then her moved in the moonlight
Her shattered the moonlight
And it her breast in the moonlight
And warned him her death
Oh he turned; he on to the west
He did not know who
Out with her black hair a flowing
with her own red blood
Oh not 'til the dawn had he it
And his grew gray to hear
How the landlord's daughter
The landlord's black eyed
Had watched for her love in the
And died in the darkness
Back he spurred a madman
Shrieking a to the sky
the white road smoking behind him
And his brandished high
Blood red were his spurs in the golden
Wine red his velvet
When shot him down on the highway
like a dog on the highway
And he lay in his blood on the
With a of lace at his throat
And on a winter's night they say
When the is in the trees
When the moon is a galleon
Tossed upon cloudy
When the road is a ribbon of
the purple moor
Oh the comes riding, riding, riding
Yes the highwayman riding
Up to the old inn door.