Gothic Narrative.

I'm making a vampire version of The Highwayman.   This is what I have so far.  The bits in green are the bits I have changed.  He is now on a motorbike, and is a vampire.  She is in prison for cavorting about with a vampire, and having the evidence of such all over her neck.  It's only worth pasting part one here, because that's all I've done.

                                        PART ONE
                                                 I
    THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
    The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
    The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
    And the highwayman came racing—
                      racing—racing—
    The highwayman came racing, up to the old jail-door.
                                                 II
    He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
    A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
    They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
    And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
                      His pistol butts a-twinkle,
    His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
                                                 III
    Over the gravel he clattered and clashed in the dark courtyard,
    And he tapped with his gloves on the windows, but all was locked and barred;
    He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
    But the vampire’s black-eyed lover,
                      Bess, the vampire’s lover,
    Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
                                                 IV
    And dark in the dark old courtyard a picnic table creaked
    Where Tim the jailor listened; his face was white and peaked;
    His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
    But he feared the vampire’s lover,
                      The vampire’s fang-marked lover,
    Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the vampire say—
                                                 V
    "One sip, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a pint to-night,
     I shall be back with the deep red blood before the morning light;
    Yet, if they hunt me smartly, and bury me through the day,
    Then look for me by moonlight,
                      Watch for me by moonlight,
    I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
                                                 VI
    He rose up on the handle bars; he scarce could reach her hand,
    But she sliced her wrist o' the window! His throat burnt like a brand
    As the iron cascade of perfume came tumbling over his lips;
    And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
                      (Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!)
    Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.