Thread: 'Twas the 18th of April in '75

'Twas the 18th of April in '75

Hardly a man is now alive

Who remembers that famous day and year

And the midnight ride of Paul Revere.

(Think I remembered that correctly)


Let's get busy -------

that was cute

Huh, huh....the ONLY poem I ever made my children memorize when we were homeschooling...

http://poetry.eserver.org/paul-revere.html
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Paul Revere's Ride
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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http://www.paulreverehouse.org/ride/

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.



JOIN THE PAUL REVERE RUNNERS!!

http://revererunners.proboards104.com





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Thank you!! I got goose bumps from my shoulders all the way down to my toes!

This is our moment in time Fellow Americans.

Defending our country from this invasion is what our generations of Americans walking this land today were born to do.

So, Lets Just Do It.

Thanks for posting this, I also posted about this on my blog today.
It has a special meaning for me because I have ancestors who were in the thick of the events of that time and place. Among my ancestors were Minutemen and patriots; they fought in the major battles, including Bunker Hill.
It's a shame that these events are hardly noted in our school curriculum and our media; it seems to me it's all part of downplaying our heritage and history, and pushing this 'multicultural' thing in which our patriot forefathers are made insignificant.
This lack of a consciousness of where we come from is a big part of what has made the invasion of our country possible. Our ancestors, God bless them, were much more aware and vigilant than many of today's Americans. Those of us here, I like to think, are in the tradition of the patriots of old.

Thank you!! I got goose bumps from my shoulders all the way down to my toes!

Yes, that poem does that to me, too!
http://www.paulreverehouse.org/ride/real.shtml

You might enjoy reading about the real ride. It is no legend! It happened pretty much like the poem says.

And the day after the 18th was the 19th.

April 19,1775

At dawn about 70 men of the local militia assembled on Lexington Green(west of Boston)....... LIned up across from them was a company of British troops sent to take their guns.....A shot is fired...Known as the shot heard around the world. You know the rest

We need runners, guys!

I know it's crazy that our kids weren't exposed to alot of this at school. I wasn't fond of memorizing all the historical dates and stuff but I atleast learned about it. My kids got no American history till highschool and it was minimul. They got Black American history from the get go, which needs to be taught as well, but it wasn't as well as American History, it was instead of. Hope they find a balance soon.

Thanks so much for posting the whole thing -

I haven't read that since my kids were small and I would read it to them.

Yes, my kids were taught little history - and what they were taught had little resemblence to what we were taught.