Who at the bridge would be first to fall, When he came to the bridge in Concord town.Īnd the twitter of birds among the trees,Īnd felt the breath of the morning breeze When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.Īnd the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, He has left the village and mounted the steep,Īnd beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,Īnd under the alders that skirt its edge, Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
The fate of a nation was riding that night Īnd the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light, Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet:
#Crafting dead map smoerest downlaod full
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,īut lingers and gazes, till full on his sightĪ shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,Īnd beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.Īnd lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height The belfry-tower of the Old North Church, On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.Īnd turned and tightened his saddle-girth On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. Where the river widens to meet the bay,.
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread, On the sombre rafters, that round him madeīeneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,īy the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,Īnd startled the pigeons from their perch Marching down to their boats on the shore. The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,Īnd the measured tread of the grenadiers, Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, Then he said, “Good night!” and with muffled oarĪnd a huge black hulk, that was magnified
0 kommentar(er)
