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