Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, Then he said, "Good night!" and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay A phantom ship, with each mast and spar And a huge black hulk, that was magnified Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street, Till in the silence around him he hears And the measured tread of the grenadiers, Marching down to their boats on the shore. Then he climbed to the tower of the church, And startled the pigeons from their perch Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, 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!" Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread For suddenly all his thoughts are bent Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Now gazed at the landscape far and near, As it rose above the graves on the hill, He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, 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, He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, |