Litchfield enquirer., 1861-01-03
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A NEW POEM BY LONGFELLOW, From the January Atlantic Monthly.1
 PAUL RETERES RJDE

Of the North Church tower, as a signallight- One if by land, and two if by sea;
 And 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 mufled 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 prison-bar,
 And huge, black hulk, that was magni6ed
 By it's 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 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 light ladder, slender 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 ell. 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 sentinels tread, The watchfnl night-wind, as it went Creeping along from tent to tent, And seeming to whisper "All is well P A moment only he feels the spell i 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 shadowy something fer away, Where the river widens to meet the bay A line of black that bends and floats On the rising tide, like bridge of boats. Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurred with q heavy stride, On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere Now he patted his horses side, Now he gazed On the landscape far and near, Then impetuous stamped the earth, And turned and frightened his saddle-girth But mostly he watched with eager search The befry-tower of the old North Church. Asit rose above the graves on the hill, Lonely, and spectral, sombre and still. And To as he looks, on the belfry's height, A glimmer, and then a.gleam of light. He springs to the saddle. the hridle he turns, But fingers and gazes, till full on his sight A second-lamp in tue bel(ry burns hurry of hoofs in village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, r And beneath from the pebbles,in passing,a spark Struck out by steed that flies fearless and feet That was all And yet, through the gloom and
 the light,
 The fate of nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his
 flight,
 K.dled the land into flame with it's heat It was twelve by the village clock When he crossed the bridge into Medford town, He heard the growing of the cock, And the barking of the farmers dog, And felt the damp of the river-fog, That rises when the gun goes down. It was one by the village clock, When he rode into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, qL And the meeting-h house windows, blank and bare Gaze athips with spectral glare, Az 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 morGing-brecze | Blowing over the meadoYs 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 British musket ball.
 You know the rest. In the books you have read How the British regulars fired and fed How the farmers gave them bail for ball,
 From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, l Chasing the red-coats down the lane
 Then crossing the fields to emerge again
 Under the trees at the turn of the road, And only pausipg to fire and load. So through the night rode Paul Revere; And SO through the night went his cry of alarn, To every Middesex village and farm,- ' A cry of defiance, and not of fear,- A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And 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-beat of that steed,
 And the midnight message of Paul Revere.