Wan near his stately tower:
His tower, that used with torches’ bleeze
To shine sae far at nicht,
Seemed now as black as mourning weed:
Nae marvel sair he sich’d.
‘There’s nae licht in my lady’s bower;
There’s nae licht in my hall;
Nae blink shines round my Fairly fair,
Nor ward stands on my wall.
What bodes it? Robert, Thomas, say!’