For they mindit him of the yerdlye greate,

In dethe or in decaye.

He turnit his face unto the north,

The fallyng teare to drie,

And he spyit ane thyng of wonderous maike,

Atwene the yerde and skie;

It wase lyke ane burd withoutten wyng,

Rychte wonderous to beholde,

And it bure are forked thyng alang,

With swiftnesse manyfolde: