Elson Grammer School Literature, book 4 | Page 6

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 the 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, blank 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 meadows 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 forevermore! 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.

HELPS TO STUDY.
Notes and Questions.
What message did Paul Revere bear?
Read an account of the battle of Lexington and observe how nearly this
poem is true to history.
Who were John Hancock and Samuel Adams?
What does the second stanza tell you? The seventh stanza?
Does this poem call your attention chiefly to the horse, the rider, or the
message?
Sketch a map locating Boston, Charlestown, Medford, Lexington,
Concord.
Words and Phrases for Discussion.
"the fate of a nation was riding that night" "gaze at him with a spectral
glare" "the spark struck out by that steed in his flight kindled the land
into flame with its heat" "sombre" "red-coats" "fearless and fleet"
* * * * *
THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet, His chestnut steed with four white

feet, Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou, Son of the road and bandit chief,
Seeking refuge and relief, Up the mountain pathway flew.
Such was the Kyrat's wondrous speed, Never yet could any steed Reach
the dust-cloud in his course. More than maiden, more than wife, More
than gold and next to life Roushan the Robber loved his horse.
In the land that lies beyond Erzeroum and Trebizond, Garden-girt, his
fortress stood; Plundered khan, or caravan Journeying north from
Koordistan, Gave him wealth and wine and food.
Seven hundred and fourscore Men at arms his livery wore, Did his
bidding night and day; Now, through regions all unknown, He was
wandering, lost, alone, Seeking, without guide, his way.
Suddenly the pathway ends, Sheer the precipice descends, Loud the
torrent roars unseen; Thirty feet from side to side Yawns the chasm; on
air must ride He who crosses this ravine.
Following close in his pursuit, At the precipice's foot Reyhan the Arab
of Orfah Halted with his hundred men, Shouting upward from the glen,
"La Illáh ilia Alláh!"
Gently Roushan Beg caressed Kyrat's forehead, neck and breast; Kissed
him upon both his eyes, Sang to him in his wild way, As upon the
topmost spray Sings a bird before it flies.
"O my Kyrat, O my steed, Bound and slender as a reed, Carry me this
peril through! Satin housings shall be thine, Shoes of gold, O Kyrat
mine, O thou soul of Kurroglou!