Was on one cold winter's night

And the wind blew across the wild moor

Poor Mary came wand'ring with a child in her arms

And she stopped at her own father's door.

Oh, father, oh father, she cried

Come down and open the door

Or this child in my arms, will perish and die

From the winds that blow across the wild moor.



Oh why did I leave this fair spot

Where once I was happy and free

This wide world to roam, with no friends or no home

And no one to have pity on me.



But the father was deaf to her cry

Not the sound of her voice, did he hear

For the watch dogs did howl and the village bells tolled

And the winds blew across the wild moor.



Oh, how the old man must have felt

When he opened the door, the next morn'

And found Mary dead, but the child still alive

Clasped close in it's dead mother's arms.

In anguish, he pulled his gray hair

And the tears, down his cheeks, they did pour

When he saw how that night, they had perished and died



From the winds that blow across the wild moor.

The old man, his life, pined away

And the child, to it's mother, went soon

And no one they say, lives there to this day

And the old house, to ruin, has gone.



But the villagers point out the spot

And the willows droop over the door

Where poor mary died, once a sweet village bride

From the winds that blow across the wild moor.