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.
The fable of Revere comes from a Longfellow poem written in 1861 and in reality he didn't ride through the night yelling about the British coming. Longfellow wrote his poem on the eve of the civil war to remind people of the nation's history. Somehow the poem became part of history and was put into history books as fact. Revere never finished the ride, his horse was taken away and he was held by a British patrol, but thanks to Longfellow we all know who he is. He billed Congress for the ride and the cost of the horse since it was taken from him and it didn't belong to him. It was borrowed from Rev. John Larkin and was named Brown Beauty. Larkin refers to it in his will. His one big contribution was the picture on a flier after the Boston Massacre showing colonist getting shot by the British. This was pure Propaganda and was used to incite discontent between the colonist and the British troops.
The fable of Revere comes from a Longfellow poem written in 1861 and in reality he didn't ride through the night yelling about the British coming. Longfellow wrote his poem on the eve of the civil war to remind people of the nation's history. Somehow the poem became part of history and was put into history books as fact. Revere never finished the ride, his horse was taken away and he was held by a British patrol, but thanks to Longfellow we all know who he is. He billed Congress for the ride and the cost of the horse since it was taken from him and it didn't belong to him. It was borrowed from Rev. John Larkin and was named Brown Beauty. Larkin refers to it in his will. His one big contribution was the picture on a flier after the Boston Massacre showing colonist getting shot by the British. This was pure propaganda and was used to incite discontent between the colonist and the British troops.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
1860. Published in 1861 and written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. It doesn't make sense cause the dates in the poem read 1875
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Longfellow
Paul Revere's Midnight Ride
me
Paul Revere
Paul Revere Paul Revere Paul Revere
no...
Paul Revere was a silversmith by trade.
Deborah revere
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote the poem "Paul Revere's Ride" about the midnight ride of Paul Revere.
Paul Revere
Henry Wardsworth Longfellow
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Longfellow wrote "Paul Revere's Ride" (more commonly known as "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere") in 1860, some 85 years after the fact.
April 18, 1775. Revere didn't finish the ride and was arrested. Longfellow wrote about it 1861 in his poem trying to get people to remember how this country was established on the eve of civil war. It was not meant to be a history lesson by the poet and because people have used his poem as fact the myth of Paul Revere is taken as history.
Paul Reverse rode along with William Dawes and Samuel Prescott. He did not say "The British are coming" since they were all British subjects. He was heard to say "The regulars are coming out" pertaining to the Kings' army. Please note that Paul Revere's ride was not particularly noted until poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote "Paul Revere's Ride" in 1861.
He never was in the military. He was a silversmith who lived in Boston and had six children. He didn't even finish the ride he is so famous for and the only reason you know his name is because poet Longfellow wrote a poem called The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere in 1861. He didn't write the poem to tell about Revere but to remind the people in 1861 to be patriotic on the eve of civil war.
He was 24
Paul Revere Paul Revere Paul Revere
no...
Paul Revere was a silversmith by trade.