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aring which he exhibited in military e brilliant victories he achieved, but spirit which, in the rescue of that in the more august events of his life, RGE WASHINGTON.

ld have been nothing to him (Washington) that avorites out-numbered, or out-looked, or outred those of other leaders. He had no favorites, ip; and, acting honestly for the universal goo, had so richly enjoyed, the universal love."

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Longfellow, born in 1807, was educated at Bowor several years in Europe. He is a most accomd his poems show the influence of his philological derful nicety of epithet and elaborate finish, and in their fidelity to the matter and spirit of the non-Catholic poets he is the most liberal, and with the Catholic spirit when singing on religious ident in "Evangeline," "Robert of Sicily," "The nd many other of his poems. "Tales of a Way-side ton in Armor," "Evangeline," "The Launching he Village Blacksmith," "Excelsior" and "Paul his most widely read poems.

EN, my children, and you shall hear the midnight ride of Paul Revere, ighteenth of April, in seventy-five ;man is now alive

nembers that famous day and

year.

to his friend, "If the British march

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.

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Then said he, "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 church-yard, 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 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, 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

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Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead
Pierced by a British musket ball.

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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 farm-yard 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.

Questions: When did the events here narrated take place? Where did they take place? Why did Paul Revere want to rouse the colonists to arms? Where is Charlestown? Explain the phrase, 'moon-light flowing over all." What does "creeping along from tent to tent" mean? What is the "shadowy something in the bay" which he watches? What is meant by "the fate of a nation was riding that night"? Where is Lexington? Concord? What was the "bloody work" that Paul thought the windows looked aghast at?

COMPOSITION.

Give in your own words an account of Paul Revere's ride, from the following summary, and foregoing questions:

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