Was on one cold winter's nightAnd the wind blew across the wild moorPoor Mary came wand'ring with a child in her armsAnd she stopped at her own father's door.Oh, father, oh father, she criedCome down and open the doorOr this child in my arms, will perish and dieFrom the winds that blow across the wild moor.
Oh why did I leave this fair spotWhere once I was happy and freeThis wide world to roam, with no friends or no homeAnd no one to have pity on me.
But the father was deaf to her cryNot the sound of her voice, did he hearFor the watch dogs did howl and the village bells tolledAnd the winds blew across the wild moor.
Oh, how the old man must have feltWhen he opened the door, the next morn'And found Mary dead, but the child still aliveClasped close in it's dead mother's arms.In anguish, he pulled his gray hairAnd the tears, down his cheeks, they did pourWhen 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 awayAnd the child, to it's mother, went soonAnd no one they say, lives there to this dayAnd the old house, to ruin, has gone.
But the villagers point out the spotAnd the willows droop over the doorWhere poor mary died, once a sweet village brideFrom the winds that blow across the wild moor.