Then below it the river was foaming white,
And above it the storm-fiend strode:
On such a night, from his own red room,
Sir Rupert looked out athwart the gloom
To see what might “in the future loom,”
Or be coming up the road.
He strained his weary eye-balls, but well was he repaid
To see a troop of travellers advancing up the glade.
Flanked round with equerries and guards, a wealthy host they seemed,
And Sir Rupert’s heart grew lighter, and his eye more brightly beamed;