Happy Patriots Day - Paul Revere’s Ride - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Let us never forget what made our nation so great. It started with the echoing of "Freedom" deep inside the human spirit that was past on to generation after generation and continues to burn bright today. Let us not forget those brave minutemen that went into battle a few centuries earlier to preserve our God given right, and let us never forget that spirit which drives our present minutemen to defend and spread the spirit of "Freedom" throughout the would today. Patriots Day 2013 ................. 112288


Paul Revere’s Ride

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

Listen my children and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, “If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,–
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm.”

Then he said “Good-night!” and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street
Wanders and watches, with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,–
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, “All is well!”
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,–
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse’s side,
Now he gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns.

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer’s dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, black and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadow brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British Regulars fired and fled,—
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard wall,
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,—
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

A childhood memory I'll always recall gratefully (actually there are probably thousands) was going to the center of town to stand with just about everyone else in the community to wait for Paul Revere to ride through. I lived in an historic town (Arlington,MA, settled in 1635 and originally named "Menotomy" (swift running waters and later switched to “Arlington” in honor of Arlington National Cemetery). Well before the pre-teen years, most residents had a deep appreciation for what the Revolution was all about and how much we should treasure its legacy. During the first day of the Revolution, Menotomy had been the location of about 50% of both the American and British deaths.

My family would stand at the corner of Mill Street (which served seven mills during one period, and one of them is now the oldest continuous working mill in the U.S. We’d be at the intersection of Massachusetts Avenue, just yards away from the Jason Russell House, which was by then a museum and featured very visible bullet holes in the interior walls. In her later life, my mother would be the Executive Director until she retired at about age 89. (They tried to convince her to go back for two more years, but she said enough was enough.)

Massachusetts Avenue, which awaited Paul’s appearance, had “street car” (trolley) tracks, and the sight of old Paul riding along the relatively new tracks would always be an unforgettable paradox.

Finally, Paul would arrive from Cambridge. Properly paunchy, he never fell off his horse, which his co-rider, William Dawes had done during the original ride. (They took William to Mass. General Hospital for head x-rays and found nothing.) Kids would wave both hands without relinquishing their cotton candy, which invariably wound up where it shouldn’t. And it would all be
over in a flash.

But patriotism would continue to be the order of the day. Graves all over town were decorated with flowers as though it had been Memorial Day. During the War years, cars would line up to access the huge dumpster on Mass. Ave. and deposit metal and rubber (which was in greater demand) for the war effort.

And now, my wife just called and told me about the explosions at the Boston Marathon. It never ends! It just never friggin’ ends! Praying for all the victims and the
responders.

Sam

WE WILL NEVER FORGET!

GOD BLESS ALL THE INJURED, WE PRAY FOR THOSE TAKEN FROM US WITH THIS COWARDLY DEED!

YOU MAY TRY TO HIDE.........BUT WE WILL GET YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

GOD BLESS THE USA!!!!!!!!!!

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