From The Hand Of Glory

On the lone bleak moor, at the midnight hour

Beneath the Gallows Tree

Hand in hand, The Murderers stand

By one, by two, or three!

And the Moon that night, With a grey, cold light

Each baleful object tips;

One half of her form, Is seen through the storm

The other half's hid in Eclipse!

And the cold wind howls, And the Thunder growls

And the Lightning is broad and bright;

And altogether, It's very bad weather

And an unpleasant sort of a night!