He told how my son, at the shepherd’s door, kept watch in Monmouth’s clothes, While Monmouth donned the shepherd’s frock, in hope to cheat his foes. A couple of troopers spied him stand, And bade him yield to the king’s command: “Surrender, thou rebel as good as dead, A price is set on thy traitor head!” My soldier son, with secret smile, Held both at bay for a little while, Dealt them such death blow as he fell, Neither was left the tale to tell; With dying eyes that asked no grace, They stared on him for a minute’s space, And felt that it was not Monmouth’s face. Crimsoned through was Monmouth’s cloak, when the soldier dropped at their side-- “Those knaves will carry no word,” he said, and he smiled in his pain, and died. “Two days,” told the messenger, “did we lie Hid in the fields of peas and rye, Hid in the ditch of brake and sedge, With the enemy’s scouts down every hedge, Till Grey was seized, and Monmouth seized, that under the fern did crouch, Starved and haggard, and all unshaved, with a few raw peas in his pouch.” * * * * * No music soundeth in my ears, but a passing bell that tolls For gallant lords with head on block--sweet Heaven receive their souls! And a mound, unnamed, in Sedgemoor grass, That laps my soldier son, alas! The bloom is shed-- The bees are fled-- Middleton luck it’s done and dead. A LEGEND BY ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER I The Monk was preaching: strong his earnest word, From the abundance of his heart he spoke, And the flame spread,--in every soul that heard Sorrow and love and good resolve awoke:-- The poor lay Brother, ignorant and old, Thanked God that he had heard such words of gold. II “Still let the glory, Lord, be thine alone,”-- So prayed the Monk, his heart absorbed in praise: “Thine be the glory: if my hands have sown The harvest ripened in Thy mercy’s rays, It was Thy blessing, Lord, that made my word Bring light and love to every soul that heard.” III “O Lord, I thank Thee that my feeble strength Has been so blest; that sinful hearts and cold Were melted at my pleading,--knew at length How sweet Thy service and how safe Thy fold: While souls that loved Thee saw before them rise Still holier heights of loving sacrifice.” IV So prayed the Monk: when suddenly he heard An Angel speaking thus: “Know, O my Son, The words had all been vain, but hearts were stirred, And saints were edified, and sinners won, By his, the poor lay Brother’s humble aid Who sat upon the pulpit stair and prayed.” THE SACRED HEART BY ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER