How often she has gazed from castle windows all
  And watched the daylight passing within her captive wall
  With no one to heed her call
  
  The evening hour is fading within the dwindling sun
  And in a lonely moment, those embers will be gone
  And the last of all the young birds flown
  
  Her days of precious freedom, forfeited long before
  To live such fruitless years behind a guarded door
  But those days will last no more
  Tomorrow, at this hour, she will be far away
  Much farther than these islands, for the lonely Fotheringay