There came a shrill and a whistling sound, Above, beneath, beside, and around, Yet leaf ne'er moved on tree! So that some people thought old Beelzebub must Have been lock'd out of doors, and was blowing the dust From the pipe of his street-door key. And then a hollow moaning blast Came, sounding more dismally still than the last, And the lightning flash'd, and the thunder growl'd, And louder and louder the tempest howl'd, And the rain came down in such sheets as would stagger a Bard for a simile short of Niagara. Rob Gilpin "was a citizen;" But, though of some "renown," Of no great "credit" in his own, Or any other town. He was a wild and roving lad, For ever in the alehouse boozing; Or romping,--which is quite as bad,-- With female friends of his own choosing. And Rob this very day had made, Not dreaming such a storm was brewing, An assignation with Miss Slade,-- Their trysting-place that same grey Ruin. But Gertrude Slade become afraid, And to keep her appointment unwilling, When she spied the rain on her window-pane In drops as big as a shilling; She put off her hat and her mantle again,-- "He'll never expect me in all this rain!" But little he recks of the fears of the sex, Or that maiden false to her tryst could be, He had stood there a good half hour Ere yet had commenced that perilous shower, Alone by the trysting-tree! Robin looks east, Robin looks west, But he sees not her whom he loves the best; Robin looks up, and Robin looks down, But no one comes from the neighbouring town. The storm came at last,--loud roar'd the blast, And the shades of evening fell thick and fast; The tempest grew; and the straggling yew, His leafy umbrella, was wet through and through; Rob was half dead with cold and with fright, When he spies in the Ruins a twinkling light-- A hop, two skips, and a jump, and straight Rob stands within that postern gate. And there were gossips sitting there, By one, by two, by three: Two were an old ill-favour'd pair; But the third was young, and passing fair, With laughing eyes, and with coal-black hair; A daintie quean was she! Rob would have given his ears to sip But a single salute from her cherry lip. As they sat in that old and haunted room, In each one's hand was a huge birch broom, On each one's head was a steeple-crown'd hat, On each one's knee was a coal-black cat; Each had a kirtle of Lincoln green-- It was, I trow, a fearsome scene. "Now riddle me, riddle me right, Madge Gray, What foot unhallow'd wends this way? Goody Price, Goody Price, now areed me aright, Who roams the old Ruins this drearysome night?" Then up and spake that sonsie quean, And she spake both loud and clear: "Oh, be it for weal, or be it for woe, Enter friend, or enter foe, Rob Gilpin is welcome here!--