pathetically to the dignity she was going to
confer on him in making him a grandpapa,
advised her to take care of herself, and
departed, a luminous example of paternal
decorum, without his son having found either
opportunity or courage to mention the
withdrawal of his allowance, and the painful
inconvenience it was likely to be to him.
Ike had a prescience of what Robin wanted
to say, and staved it off skilfully; he did not
want to come to an open quarrel with his
son, for respectability's sake; but his heart
was so bitter against him for the time, that
he would have seen him starving with
pleasure.

MONMOUTH.

THE windows flash in Taunton town
With hurrying lights and muffled lamps,
And torches wander up and down
The streets, alive like scattered camps:
Far goes the word o'er field and fen,—
Monmouth is here with all his men!

Follow the Duke! and fife and drum
Startle the nightmared country round.
Hither in flocks the lads are come,
The gallant lads so staunch and sound;
Hither in troops they march all night,
And wives and mothers mourn their flight.

The whisper warns that close on dawn,
Before the village cock crows thrice,
He leads his merry people on,
And bravely flings the battle dice.
Look to your arms, lads; temper them well,
Lest that the unflesh'd steel rebel!

Auburn heads and grey are here,
Who grasp the pike from door to door;
Their sires who followed Oliver,
And work'd at Worcester, and the Moor.
Again the cheering of the town
They hear denounce a faithless crown.

They hear again the admiral's name
With his great master's coupled high,
And drink, in brown October, shame
To Papists, till the cup is dry.
March, merry men! and shoulder blithe
Pike and musket, bill and scythe.

Over the main street floats a flag,
The toil of twenty noble maids;
Soon will it stream a blushing rag,
But now 'tis bright with symbol'd braids;
And as the young men march beneath,
Its long folds wave and flatterers breathe.

Swings the banner from the hall
Where Monmouth holds his night carouse,
And views his eager followers fall
On bended knee, with loyal vows.
Sweet women blossom in the throng,
And pledge success in cup and song.

They pledge him deep, and to reply
He rises from his cushion'd chair;
The monarch's joy is in his eye;
He bows and drains the goblet there;
The kingly wine that crowns his brain
Runs royally through every vein.

He feels the purple warmth, the weight
Of golden glory on him shed:
He wins the battle lost by Fate,
He mounts the height that claims his head;
He mounts the height so many moan
Who find a scaffold for a throne.

"To horse!—to horse!" The war-steeds prance;
High vaults he with a chieftain's grace,
And many a lovely lady's glance
Dwells fondly on his fated face.
With warmer red their red cheeks bloom
While he waves round his princely plume.

And tears and sighs, and wild adieus,
Bubble beneath his bounding bliss;
Sad dreams of the past night refuse
Consoling by the soldier's kiss.
The mother and the bosom wife
Have dreamt dark issue to the strife.

The cheerless wife, the mother, clings
To him she loves, and will not part.
The young son up the stirrup springs,
To feel once more his father's heart.
The townsmen mount the grey church-tower,
All glorious in the morning hour.

"God speed to Monmouth! Speed and aid!"
They shout, as through the gate defiles
The gallant, glistening cavalcade;
And round the fresh-eyed pasture smiles,
Among the shining streams and shaws,—
"God speed to Monmouth and his cause!"

"Speed!" And the mimic echoes run
From hill to hill, and wail the word:
Over his head to greet the sun
Quivers the ever-cheerful bird.
The people shout, the clear chimes ring,
And the calm heavens receive their king.

Grandly to take what none contest
He rises, by all earth desired;
And the liege-limits of the west
With his effulgent eye are fired.
Duke Monmouth to his saddle-bow
Baring his lustrous head, bows low.

Low to the rising sun he bends,
And at the sight all heads are bare:
"Victorious we shall be, my friends!"
The host put up a hasty prayer.
"Speed the good youth," sigh distant dames,
"And rid the land of Papist James."

Again Duke Monmouth waves on high
His bonnet, to the Orient arch:
"See, gentlemen, our augury!"
And with fresh heart the men all march.
Loud, loud, the exulting music plays,
As broader spread the mounting rays.

And cries are yell'd, and caps are flung,
And up the ranks gay pass-words skim;
And oaths are sworn, and songs are sung,
And stories told in praise of him:
The darling son of English home!
The Cavalier of Christendom!

So lithe of limb, so fleet of foot,
'Tis he can throw, and leap, and laugh;
What marksman with his aim can shoot,
Or play the steel, or ply the staff?
And some have sisters whom he dower'd;
On all his kindly smiles have shower'd.