The earl looked seaward over his walls;
⁠But all he saw was a wreath of mist,
⁠And a little black cloud, by the white moon kissed:
So he turned again to his lighted halls.

But the wreath of mist hid an enemy's ships,
⁠As it slowly crept with them into the bay;
⁠And the little cloud rolled up, ragged and grey,
With livid lightning between its lips.

A levin-bolt split the castle keep,
⁠And opened a way for the enemy's sword;
⁠But the Earl still smiled at the witches' word
When they killed him in his sleep.