Vor forty veet, up steäir by steäir,
That roun' the risèn tow'r do wind,
Like withwind roun' the saplèn's rind,
An' reach a landèn, wi' a seat,
To rest at last your weary veet,
'Ithin a breast be-screenèn wall,
To keep ye vrom a longsome vall.
An' roun' the windèn steäirs do spring
Aïght stwonèn pillars in a ring,
A-reachèn up their heavy strangth