(D. Turner)



On a cold winty night

As the winds blew across the wild moor

Poor Mary came wandering home with her child

Till she came at her own father's door.



Papa, oh papa, she cried

Come down and open the door

Or the child in my arms will perish and die

From the winds that blow across the wild moor.



But the man was deaf to her cry

Not a sound of her voice did he hear

While the watch dogs did howl and the village bells tolled

The winds blew across the wild moor.



Oh, how the old man must have felt

When he came to the door the next morn

And found Mary dead but the child yet alive

Clutched close to his dead mother's breast.



Now the old man in grief pined away

And the day to it's mother went soon

And no one they say has lived there to this day

And the cottage is left to ruins,



Now the villagers point out the place

Where the willows droop over the door

Saying there Mary died once a gay village bride

From the winds that blew across the wild moor.



From the winds that blew across the wild moor...