Then, for True Thomas would know the meaning of so strange a sight, then a messenger was sent in haste to the castle of Ercildoune.
As he listened to the tale the messenger brought, Thomas started up out of bed and in haste he put on his clothes. Pale and red did he grow in turn as he listened to the tale, yet all he said was this: 'My sand is run, my thread is spun, this token is for me.'
Thomas hung his elfin harp around his neck, his minstrel cloak across his shoulders, and out into the pale moonlight he walked. And as he walked the wind touched the strings of the elfin harp and drew forth a wail so full of dole that those who heard it whispered: 'It is a note of death.'
On walked Thomas, slow and sad, and oft he turned to look again at the grim walls of the castle, which he knew he would never see again.
And the moonbeams fell upon the grey tower, and in the soft light the walls grew less grim, less stern, so thought Thomas.
'Farewell,' he cried, 'farewell. Nor song nor dance shall evermore find place within thy walls. On thy hearthstone shall the wild hare seek a refuge for her young. Farewell to Leader, the stream I love, farewell to Ercildoune, my home.'
As Thomas tarried for a last look, the hart and the hind drew near. Onward then he went with them toward the banks of the Leader, and there, before the astonished folk, he crossed the stream with his strange companions, and nevermore was Thomas the Rhymer seen again.
For many a day among the hills and through the glens was Thomas sought, but never was he found. There be some who say that he is living yet in Elfland, and that one day he will come again to earth.
Meanwhile he is not forgotten. The Eildon tree no longer waves its branches in the breeze, but a large stone named the Eildon-tree stone marks the spot where once it grew. And near to the stone flows a little river which has been named the Goblin Brook, for by its banks it was believed that Thomas the Rhymer used to talk with little men from the land of Elf.