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Paul Revere’s Ride
Poets.org ^ | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Posted on 04/18/2025 5:22:52 AM PDT by DFG

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 to the tower of the church, Up 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 gazed on 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 that flies 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 when 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, blank 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 meadows 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 red-coats 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 forevermore! 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.

This poem is in the public domain.


TOPICS: Books/Literature; History
KEYWORDS: boston; godsgravesglyphs; longfellow; oldnorthchurch; oneifbyland; paulrevere; theframers; thegeneral; therevolution; twoifbysea
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To: Big Red Badger

Woodmere Art Museum

Narrator, piano, bass drums

The Landlord’s Tale

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y8CdFf6z4V8


21 posted on 04/18/2025 7:49:40 AM PDT by CharlesOConnell (Kucy)
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To: Big Red Badger

I forgot to mention that Estabrook is buried in the graveyard behind a church with its bell cast by Paul Revere’s business.


22 posted on 04/18/2025 8:20:01 AM PDT by Lovely-Day-For-A-Guinness (Jesus rides beside me, He never buys any smokes)
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To: DFG
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 red-coats 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.

This is why they want our guns. And why the Swiss have a gun in every house

23 posted on 04/18/2025 10:33:42 AM PDT by FatherofFive (we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor)
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To: FatherofFive

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 red-coats 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.
This is why they want our guns. And why the Swiss have a gun in every house.

OK, I’m stealing the above and posting it to Facebook.
It’s just so true.


24 posted on 04/18/2025 11:01:09 AM PDT by missthethunder (Since the 1980 Rona Barrett interview.)
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To: DFG
A great poem despite a few inaccuracies. Paul Revere was stopped by the British and did not make it to Concord--but Dr. Samuel Prescott did.

If not for the first shot fired in Lexington (no one knows who fired it) possibly the day would have ended without bloodshed--but because there was bloodshed, the Revolutionary War began on April 19, 1775. But it was more than a year before the Second Continental Congress was ready to consider declaring independence.

25 posted on 04/18/2025 1:19:39 PM PDT by Verginius Rufus
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To: DFG

Most of the ride was done by someone else. The name escapes me.


26 posted on 04/18/2025 1:22:50 PM PDT by Fledermaus ("It turns out all we really needed was a new President!")
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To: Fledermaus

William Dawes and Samuel Prescott were the other riders.

Revere was captured by British troops before reaching Concord, but Prescott eventually made it to the town to alert the militia.


27 posted on 04/18/2025 1:50:01 PM PDT by DFG
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To: DFG

Paul Revere’s Ride by David Hackett Fisher is my go to book on this.


28 posted on 04/18/2025 2:05:41 PM PDT by ebshumidors ( )
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To: missthethunder
OK, I’m stealing the above and posting it to Facebook. It’s just so true.

The Founding Fathers were genius, and created the Constitution, the greatest document ever written, after the Bible

29 posted on 04/18/2025 5:35:05 PM PDT by FatherofFive (we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor)
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