Elson Grammer School Literature, book 4 | Page 5

much force, rather than too little. Let the teacher learn that we
want quality, not quantity, and our statement of the mental action
behind force will be of much benefit in creating the proper conditions."
To discriminating teachers it will be apparent that this book is not the
usual school reader. On the contrary it differs widely from this in the
cultural value of the selections, in the classification and arrangement of
material, in the variety of interest to which it appeals, and in the
abundance of classic literature from American authors which it contains.
It aims to furnish the best in poetry and prose to be found in the
literature of the English-speaking race and to furnish it in abundance. If
these familiar old selections, long accepted as among the best in
literature, shall be the means of cultivating in pupils a taste for good

reading, the book will have fulfilled its purpose.
For permission to use valuable selections from their lists,
acknowledgment is due to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin and Company,
Charles Scribner's Sons, and The Whitaker and Ray Company.
Grateful acknowledgment is also made to those teachers who have
given valuable suggestions and criticisms in the compilation of this
book.
THE AUTHORS.
April, 1909.
* * * * *
"We live in deeds, not years, in thoughts, not breaths; In feelings, not in
figures on a dial."
PHILIP JAMES BAILEY.

PART I.
FAMOUS RIDES, SELECTIONS FROM SHAKESPEARE AND
OTHER POETS, AND STUDIES IN RHYTHM
* * * * *
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 tonight, 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,-- Up 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, 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 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