Grant Wood (American, 1892–1942). The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere, 1931. Oil on Masonite. 30 x 40 in. (76.2 x 101.6 cm). Arthur Hoppock Hearn Fund, 1950 (50.117). The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
Posted on 04/18/2010 9:02:34 PM PDT by Oratam
Paul Revere's Ride Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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.
Great post, Oratam! Thanks.
Fantastic post, Sam... thank you! (#17)
This thread may be of interest to you...
Beautiful poem. Although the statue on my FR home page shows the horse with only two feet on the ground, which indicates that the rider died in combat, Revere died a peaceful death at home long after his brave ride.
Posts like yours above are what make FR a top priority for daily reading and correspondence. Thanks for the same!
I loved this poem as a child. My mom used to read it to me regularly. It helped shape my political consciousness at a very early age. It so captured my imagination, that on the evening of April 18th, 1975 (I was 11 then), I rode my Shetland pony through the streets of our town, crying, “The British are coming!” — perhaps I was the only reenactor on the 200th anniversary of the ride? The only one in California at any rate, I suspect.
It did have one negative effect on me though...
One fine Saturday morning, when I was very, very small, we were at the local public pool for swimming lessons. I and the other kids noticed a skywriter writing some huge words in smoke high above us and somewhat to the east. I remember distinctly that (a) I just barely knew my letters and couldn’t really read yet, and (b) the sun was in my eyes, which was the case for the other kids too, so it would have been tough to read in any case. However, the lifeguard squinted, shaded his eyes, and slowly read the words aloud for us, the terrifying words blazoned in the skies for the whole San Fernando Valley to see:
“THE....RUSSIANS....ARE...COMING”.
Pure terror! Especially having heard that Longfellow poem at mother’s knee! Mommy, Daddy, the Russians are coming!!!
I didn’t figure out til my 40’s, that the skywriter must have been hired by Hollywood to promote the comedy movie, “The Russians Are Coming” (released 5/25/1966). Which means that I was a few months shy of age 3 at the time. Who says early experiences don’t determine your politics? LOL
Moderator — For reasons I will gladly explain privately, please delete my post 26. Email me if you want to know why. Thanks.
We have a latter-day Paul Revere, in the form of what we are seeing: the tea party movement.
Besides the tea party movement, the latter day version of the Paul Reveres are our talkradio show hosts.
Grant Wood (American, 1892–1942). The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere, 1931. Oil on Masonite. 30 x 40 in. (76.2 x 101.6 cm). Arthur Hoppock Hearn Fund, 1950 (50.117). The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
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Minuteman Park
British Soldier's Grave Marker
British Grave Marker at Concord
Concord Bridge, where the Shot Heard Round the World was fired, from left to right:
Minuteman
The Concord Minuteman
...The Boston Patriots had been preparing for such a military action by the British for some time, and upon learning of the British plan, Patriots Paul Revere and William Dawes were ordered to set out to rouse the militiamen and warn Adams and Hancock. When the British troops arrived at Lexington, Adams, Hancock, and Revere had already fled to Philadelphia, and a group of militiamen were waiting. The Patriots were routed within minutes, but warfare had begun, leading to calls to arms across the Massachusetts countryside... (Courtesy of History.com
I followed them a short distance to where they were dropped off and they quickly "disappeared" into the neighborhood. Making their way through woods and backyards they converged at Concord Bridge to re-enact the battle. I felt so lucky to be a witness to the events that day.
Excellent! Thank you. I needed this today.
On evenings when the weather was good, Revere would close up his silversmithy, take to horse and ride at a full gallop through the farm roads in back of Boston. If you were walking down a country lane during the evening, and someone passed you on horseback racing flat-out, it was safe to call out, "Good evening, Mr. Revere!"
When the brothers at the St. Andrews Masonic Lodge were looking for volunteers to ride as couriers, I have this vision of Revere holding up his hand and saying, "Me! Me! I'll do it!"
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