MARY OF THE WILD MOORE
(Traditional - credited in 1845 to Joseph W. Turner)
Bob Dylan (with Regina McCrary, vocals/autoharp, Fred Tackett, mandolin) 


It was on a cold and windy nite, 
When the wind blow across the wild moor. 
When Mary came wandering home with her child, 
Till she came to her own fathers door. 
Father dear father she cried, 
Come down and open the door. 
For the child in my arms ["rams" in "Isis", No. 45 -- TYPO?] will perish and die 
From the winds that blow across the wild moor. 

Why did I leave this fair spot, 
Where once I was happy and free, 
I am now forced to roam without friends or a home, 
And no one to take pity on me 

But her father was deaf to her cries, 
Not a sound of her voice did he hear. 
So the watchdog did howl, and the village bells tolled, 
And the wind blew.. 

Oh how the old man must've felt, 
When he came to the next morn, 
And he found Mary dead but the child still alive, 
Closely grasped in his dead mothers arms. 

As rage he tore his grey hair. 
And his tears down his cheeks they did pour. 
When he saw how that nite she had perished and died. 
From the wind that blew across the wild moor. 

In grief the old man pined away, 
And the child to its mother went soon. 
And no one they say how lived still. 
And the cottage to ruin has gone. 

But the villagers point out the spot, 
Where the willow pours over the door.. 
Saying there Mary did once a gay village find, 
From the wind that blew across the wild moor.