245 Years Ago Tonight: Paul Revere's Ride!

Hello everyone –



In addition to the sacred festivals that dance through different dates on the calendar each year, the month of April also has a patriotic holiday dedicated to the remembrance of the epoch-making events that led to the founding of our nation 244 years ago. In this edition of Quotemail, I am featuring poems about Patriots’ Day, a New England observance that takes place on the third Monday of April. In these memorable verses, both Longfellow and Emerson – two New England poets – commemorate the first battle of the American Revolution on April 19, 1775, and the significant adventure leading up to it on the night before – 245 years ago TONIGHT!



“Paul Revere’s Ride” (1860)

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)



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 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."

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 the tower of the Old North Church,
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the somber rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,--
By 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, 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 he 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 somber 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, black 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 meadow 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 for evermore!
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.



“Concord Hymn” (1837)

By Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)



By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world.

The foe long since in silence slept;
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;
And Time the ruined bridge has swept
Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream,
We set to-day a votive stone;
That memory may their deed redeem,
When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

Spirit, that made those heroes dare,
To die, and leave their children free,
Bid Time and Nature gently spare
The shaft we raise to them and Thee.



You can watch an animated music video based on this poem (Schoolhouse Rock’s “The Shot Heard Round the World”) @ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y6ikO6LMxF4.



ADDENDUM: “The Liberty Tree” (1775)

By Thomas Paine (1737-1809)

Editor’s Note: This poem was written to “rally the troops” and garner support for the American Revolution after British troops chopped down the “Liberty Tree” that stood near Boston Commons in 1775. The 129-year-old tree, after its death, became a powerful symbol for the Continental Army and was displayed on numerous American flags throughout the Revolution.



1. In a chariot of light from the regions of day,

The goddess of Liberty came,

Ten thousand celestials directed her way,

And hither conducted the dame.

A fair budding branch from the gardens above,

Where millions with millions agree,

She brought in her hand as a pledge of her love,

And the plant she named Liberty Tree.



2. The celestial exotic stuck deep in the ground,

Like a native it flourished and bore;

The fame of its fruit drew the nations around

To seek out this peaceable shore.

Unmindful of names or distinctions they came,

For freemen like brothers agree;

With one Spirit endued, they one friendship pursued,

And their temple was Liberty Tree.



3. But hear, O ye swains (‘tis a tale most profane),

How all the tyrannical powers,

Kings, Commons, and Lords, are uniting amain

To cut down this guardian of ours.

From the east to the west blow the trumpet to arms,

Through the land let the sound of it flee:

Let the far and the near all unite with a cheer,

In defense of our Liberty Tree.



Enjoy the springtime weather outside this weekend! :)



Until next time –

Rob

700th Anniversary of the Scottish Declaration of Independence

Hello everyone –



I deliberately saved this edition of Quotemail for today – Monday, April 6^th, 2020 – to commemorate the 700^th anniversary of the signing of the Scottish Declaration of Independence, which took place on this date in 1320. In honor of this historic occasion, I’d like to share with you the text of an article that I wrote for the Illinois Administrative Professionals’ newsletter in November 2014, based on a classic poem about King Robert the Bruce of Scotland, who (like us) was facing a rather daunting situation – and never gave up – and won – as we shall likewise do against our current foe, the coronavirus.



SO SAY WE ALL! J





Leadership Reflection for November 2014

If at First You Don’t Succeed – Try, Try Again

By Rob Chappell, M.A., Assistant to the ACES Honors Dean






November 1^st marks the beginning of the Keltik New Year, so in honor of this auspicious occasion, I’d like to share with you a traditional Keltik legend about patience and perseverance in leadership, which illustrates the famous couplet:



“If at first you don’t succeed,

Try, try again.”

à William Edward Hickson (1803–1870)



Robert the Bruce (1274-1329) had been crowned King of Scotland in 1306, at a time when his country was fighting for its independence from the overlordship of England and its King, Edward II. The War for Scottish Independence lasted for more than a generation, and during the protracted conflict, numerous atrocities were perpetrated against the Scottish people, their institutions, and their country’s infrastructure by English forces. King Robert had fought bravely against the English invaders, but after losing a series of six battles, he was tempted to despair. A hunted man, he fled from one hiding place to the next, trying to figure out his next move. One day, while hiding in a hut, his whole outlook was changed by an encounter with a spider.



“Bruce and the Spider”

By Bernard Barton (1784-1849)



For Scotland’s and for freedom’s right

The Bruce his part has played; --

In five successive fields of fight

Been conquered and dismayed:

Once more against the English host

His band he led, and once more lost

The meed for which he fought;

And now from battle, faint and worn,

The homeless fugitive, forlorn,

A hut’s lone shelter sought.



And cheerless was that resting-place

For him who claimed a throne; --

His canopy, devoid of grace,

The rude, rough beams alone;

The heather couch his only bed --

Yet well I ween had slumber fled

From couch of eider down!

Through darksome night till dawn of day,

Absorbed in wakeful thought he lay

Of Scotland and her crown.



The Sun rose brightly, and its gleam

Fell on that hapless bed,

And tinged with light each shapeless beam

Which roofed the lowly shed;

When, looking up with wistful eye,

The Bruce beheld a spider try

His filmy thread to fling

From beam to beam of that rude cot --

And well the insect’s toilsome lot

Taught Scotland’s future King.



Six times the gossamery thread

The wary spider threw; --

In vain the filmy line was sped,

For powerless or untrue

Each aim appeared, and back recoiled

The patient insect, six times foiled,

And yet unconquered still;

And soon the Bruce, with eager eye,

Saw him prepare once more to try

His courage, strength, and skill.



One effort more, his seventh and last! --

The hero hailed the sign! --

And on the wished-for beam hung fast

That slender silken line!

Slight as it was, his spirit caught

The more than omen; for his thought

The lesson well could trace,

Which even “he who runs may read,”

That Perseverance gains its meed,

And Patience wins the race.


At the Battle of Bannockburn (1314), King Robert won a decisive victory over the English invaders, secured the throne of Scotland for himself, and guaranteed sovereignty for the Scottish people. Six years later, on April 6^th, 1320, King Robert and the Scottish nobles promulgated the Scottish Declaration of Independence to announce to the family of nations that Scotland would remain a free and independent country. This document (also known as the Declaration of Arbroath) would later inspire the Founding Fathers of the United States to adopt their own Declaration of Independence at Philadelphia on July 4^th, 1776. J



Note: The full text of the Scottish Declaration of Independence can be read online (http://www.nas.gov.uk/about/090401.asp) from the National Archives of Scotland (in the original Latin, with an English translation).





Until next time – stay strong and well! J

Rob