TELL A STORY

What are the elements of a good story?

Vivid characters, sequence of events, details, tension, suspense, etc.... Can poems tell a story?

Yes, they sure can! Read "The Highwayman" and see if you can identify the story elements that Alfred Noyes used in his poem.

Click here to hear an audio reading of the poem. (you'll need realplayer)

or

Click here to hear Loreena McKinnet (one of my favorite singers) perform the poem. (you'll need realplayer)

"The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes

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 inn door.

 

He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead,

a bunch of lace at his chin;

A coat of the claret velvet,

and breeches of brown doe-skin.

They fitted with never a wrinkle:

his boots were up to his thigh!

And he rode with a jeweled twinkle,

his rapier hilt a-twinkle,

His pistol butts a-twinkle,

under the jeweled sky.

 

Over the cobbles he clattered

and clashed in the dark inn-yard,

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 he heard the robber say--

 

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart;

I'm after a prize to-night,

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 moonlight,

Watch for me by moonlight,

I'll come to thee by moonlight,

though hell should bar the way."

 

He stood 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 ov'er his breast,

And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,

(Oh sweet black waves in the moonlight!),

Then he tugged at his reins 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,

The redcoat troops 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 her casement,

with muskets by 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 bound her up at attention,

with many a sniggering jest!

hey had tied a rifle 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,

ill, 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 the rest;

Up, she stood up at 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 in her veins, in the moonlight

throbbed to her love's refrain.

 

Tlot tlot; tlot tlot! Had they heard it?

The horse-hooves, 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 redcoats 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 in her own red blood!

Not till the dawn did he hear it,

and 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.

 

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 his spurs i' the golden noon,;

wine-red was his velvet coat

When they shot him down on the highway,

Down like a dog in the highway,

And he lay in his blood in the highway,

with the bunch of lace at his throat.

 

And still on a winter's night, they say,

when the wind is in the trees,

When the moon is a ghostly galleon

tossed upon cloudy seas,

When the road a ribbon of moonlight

over the purple moor,

The highwayman comes riding--

Riding--riding--

The 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 black-eyed daughter,

Bess, the landlord's daughter,

Plaiting a dark red love-knot

into her long black hair.

Work with a partner and write about something that happened within the past week. This doesn't have to be a major, life changing event. Maybe you overslept and were late for school. Or perhaps you watched your pet snake shed its skin. Maybe you gave your room a long overdue cleaning. The event itself doesn't matter so much as your telling of it. Just start right in and write through a quick draft to get started.

Keep the poem short, compressed, to the point--no more than 24 lines as an absolute maximum. You may want to write this out first as prose, then add line breaks and stanza breaks when you complete your first draft.

Check to see if you have a sequence of events, details, characters, tension, suspense, etc...

I hope that you're inspired because now it's time for you to create an original poem.  

  1. Pick a topic that you have strong feelings about. That will be your theme.
  2. Decide: 1) For what purpose will you write? 2) What mood do you want to convey?
  3. Think of the images, descriptive words, and figurative language that best describe your idea (remember sounds, smells, sights). Jot them down in web form or in a list as you think of them.
  4. Now work on writing your poem. Draft, revise, and edit.
  5. Now, for the real test, read it ALOUD. Does it really paint a clear picture?
  6. Share your poem with someone else. Listen to his or her critique of your poem. A critique is when someone tells you the strengths and weaknesses of your work. DON'T GET MAD, LISTEN to the suggestions. Revise your work. Remember, the BEST writers are REWRITERS!
  7. Give your poem a title.
  8. Type and choose a font that adds to the look of your poem.
  9. Illustrate your poem.

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