In the heart of Cumbria, lays the lake of Windermere
A desolate and windswept place, named after Vinandir
Over the centuries the ferrymen have rowed
From ferry Nab to Sawrey they would often go
Travelling through morning mist, guided by a lonely bell
The ferrymen returned this day with an eerie tale to tell
Tearing across the wave
They heard the maniac rave
Onward he leapt, in a furious glee
And past the house he swept
To whistle in the tree
Few quiet lulls did he afford
More quiet by contrast
With force redoubled then he roared
A furious shuddering blast
Like a frenzied beast of prey
Ere he sped his trackless way
Another song be sung! Another cup be full!
But suddenly within a lull...
A legend arose from tragedies of sailing boats that sank
47 souls were lost to a murky black abyss
Upon the wooded heights of the western bank
The echoes of this horror manifested in the mist
Travelling through twilight fog, guided by a lantern's light
The ferrymen returned this night but couldn't tell of his plight
The Crier of Claiffe - A chilling call from the mist
A ghostly hooded figure standing on the cliffs
The Crier of Claiffe - A desperate summoning voice
To travel across the water for money or fate, your choice?
Again, again, that wild voice came
A boat! A boat! In heaven's name
Again, again, that wild voice came
A boat! A boat! In heaven's name
The long night through
Tho' his lips have moved
He cannot speak
To those he loved
He covers his wild eyes
To hide some hateful sight
Ere the first streak
Of morning light
The mountains clad
He has gone raving mad
And, raving mad, he dies
But what he saw, on that night of fear
Over the ferry of Windermere
None evermore shall know
'Tis the secret of the rolling wave
'Tis buried in the ferryman's grave
But every night, as darkness fell
And all the long night through
A thousand tongues were ready to tell
And swear that the tale was true
Came the awful cries of that wild holloa
Over the ferry from the opposite shore