In Selkirk town there lived a lass,

And dozens courted for her hand.

But by them every day she’d pass:

Her heart belonged to a highwayman.

They met one night near Breaker’s Rocks,

As the moon rose o’er the trees,

Her silken dress and raven locks

All a-flutter in the breeze.

Her young man looked so pale and wan,

But in the dim she could not see

The trembling of his lovely hand

Nor bloodstains on his finery.

He bid her sit beside him

As the moon rose o’er the trees.

His tender lips with sweat were limned,

Though t’was a chilly autumn breeze.

“What ails my love,” the lady cried,

“That you should be so weak and frail?”

“Tell to me what makes you sigh,

And tell what makes you pale!”

“I am wounded, love,” he hissed,

As the moon rose o’er the trees.

“I wished from you but one more kiss,

Sweet and tender as the breeze.”

“My father’s priests and doctors fine

To mend your wounds for me!”

“O, they’ll naw spare a brigand swine—

A kiss, a kiss, I beg of thee!”

She’s kissed him then, with tear in eye,

As the moon rose o’er the trees.

He’s kissed her soft and he lay still

In the cruel and bitter breeze.

In Selkirk town there lived a lass,

And dozens courted for her hand.

In mourning black each day she’d pass

To her brigand’s grave in the shallow sand.