(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...