A Highway Woman Comes Riding

The Highway Woman

The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highway rider came riding
Riding riding
The highway rider comes riding
Up to the Abbey Door.

She'd a black cape flying, and a bunch of red hair swaying;
She'd a coat of the black crushed velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; her boots were up to her thigh!
And she rode with a jeweled twinkle
Her rapier hilt a-twinkle
Her pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.

Over the cobbles she clattered and clashed in the dark abbey-yard,
She tapped with her whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
She whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there?

(Apologies to Alfred Noyles)

The rider comes bearing news that a party of travellers are coming, seeking refuge and a safe haven during their long journey from the Grotto della Sibilla, in the Umbrian Mountains in Italy. The Grotto was first mentioned in medieval, not classical legends and the Sibyl pronounced her oracles there for hundreds of years. Recently a group inhabited this long abandoned cave and now they are coming on a road trip to the Abbey, riding overland.

Dust the corners, clean the chandeliers, bring out the silver, make the spare beds, stoke the kitchen fires, hoe the garden, light the lanterns in readiness to welcome our guests.

The Abbess