And, all about us, through the night, The mists were stealing, cold and white, Down every rushy syke or slack: But, soon the moon swung into sight: And, as we went, my heart was light, And singing like a burn in flood: And in my ears were tinkling bells: My body was a rattled drum: And fifes were shrilling through my blood That summer night, to think that she Was walking through the world with me. But when the air with dawn was chill, As we were travelling down a hill, She broke her silence with low-sobbing: And told her tale, her bosom throbbing As though her very heart were shaken With fear she’d yet be overtaken... She’d always lived in caravans-- Her father’s, gay as any man’s, Grass-green, picked out with red and yellow And glittering brave with burnished brass That sparkled in the sun like flame, And window curtains, white as snow... But, they had died, ten years ago, Her parents both, when fever came... And they were buried, side by side, Somewhere beneath the wayside grass... In times of sickness, they kept wide Of towns and busybodies, so No parson’s or policeman’s tricks Should bother them when in a fix... Her father never could abide A black coat or a blue, poor man... And so, Long Dick, a kindly fellow, When you could keep him from the can, And Meg, his easy-going wife, Had taken her into their van; And kept her since her parents died... And she had lived a happy life, Until Fat Pete’s young wife was taken... But, ever since, he’d pestered her... And she dared scarcely breathe or stir, Lest she should see his eyes aleer... And many a night she’d lain and shaken, And very nearly died of fear-- Though safe enough within the van With Mother Meg and her good-man-- For, since Fat Pete was Long Dick’s friend, And they were thick and sweet as honey; And Dick owed Pete a pot of money, She knew too well how it must end... And she would rather lie stone dead Beneath the wayside grass than wed With leering Pete, and live the life, And die the death, of his first wife... And so, last night, clean-daft with dread, She’d bundled up a pack and fled... When all the sobbing tale was out, She dried her eyes, and looked about, As though she’d left all fear behind, And out of sight were out of mind. Then, when the dawn was burning red, "I’m hungry as a hawk!" she said: And from the bundle took out bread. And, at the happy end of night, We sat together by a burn: And ate a thick slice, turn by turn; And laughed and kissed between each bite. Then, up again, and on our way We went; and tramped the livelong day The moorland trackways, steep and rough, Though there was little fear enough That they would follow on our flight.