Author Topic: Happy SHRTW Day  (Read 3525 times)

Solus

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Happy SHRTW Day
« on: April 19, 2017, 03:19:31 pm »
Concord Hymn
By Ralph Waldo Emerson


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 today 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.

Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!"
—Patrick Henry

"Good intentions will always be pleaded for every assumption of authority. It is hardly too strong to say that the Constitution was made to guard the people against the dangers of good intentions. There are men in all ages who mean to govern well, but they mean to govern. They promise to be good masters, but they mean to be masters."
— Daniel Webster

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Happy SHRTW Day
« on: April 19, 2017, 03:19:31 pm »

Timothy

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Re: Happy SHRTW Day
« Reply #1 on: April 19, 2017, 03:35:23 pm »
Yes indeed!  Been visiting the Old North Bridge for several years now. 

About Forty miles..

jumbofrank

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Re: Happy SHRTW Day
« Reply #2 on: April 19, 2017, 03:39:20 pm »
When I first saw the title of the thread I was thinking what the hell is SHRTW day? It didn't take me too long to figure it out.
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Timothy

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Re: Happy SHRTW Day
« Reply #3 on: April 19, 2017, 05:15:50 pm »
I've read this poem (hymn) every time I visit the park.

I get choked up every time...

tombogan03884

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Re: Happy SHRTW Day
« Reply #4 on: April 20, 2017, 06:00:46 am »



        Paul Revere's Ride
        Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

        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 sombre 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 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, 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.

MikeBjerum

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Re: Happy SHRTW Day
« Reply #5 on: April 20, 2017, 08:07:38 am »
Great chance to catch up on history through the eyes of those who care.

Being on the road and making deliveries, I miss out on many of these events until I get here.  Sadly, modern media ignores most of what made us what and who we are today.
If I appear taller than other men it is because I am standing on the shoulders of others.

Solus

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Re: Happy SHRTW Day
« Reply #6 on: April 20, 2017, 09:59:16 am »
As many times as I've read "Paul Revere's Ride", it still give me chills.

One stanza in particular in the "Star Spangled Banner" does also...

"And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there,"

Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!"
—Patrick Henry

"Good intentions will always be pleaded for every assumption of authority. It is hardly too strong to say that the Constitution was made to guard the people against the dangers of good intentions. There are men in all ages who mean to govern well, but they mean to govern. They promise to be good masters, but they mean to be masters."
— Daniel Webster

PegLeg45

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Re: Happy SHRTW Day
« Reply #7 on: April 20, 2017, 11:05:47 am »
As many times as I've read "Paul Revere's Ride", it still give me chills.

One stanza in particular in the "Star Spangled Banner" does also...

"And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there,"


Every single time.
"Guard with jealous attention the public liberty. Suspect everyone who approaches that jewel. Unfortunately, nothing will preserve it but downright force. Whenever you give up that force, you are ruined...The great object is that every man be armed. Everyone who is able might have a gun."~Patrick Henry

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jumbofrank

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Re: Happy SHRTW Day
« Reply #8 on: April 20, 2017, 01:31:16 pm »
Don't forget about Sybil Ludington.

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of a lovely feminine Paul Revere
Who rode an equally famous ride
Through a different part of the countryside
In April, Seventeen Seventy-Seven
A smokey glow in the eastern heaven
A fiery herald of war and slaughter
Came to the eyes of the Colonel's daughter
"Danbury's burning," she cried aloud
The Colonel answered, "Tis but a cloud"
A cloud reflecting the campfire's red
So hush you, Sybil, and go to bed
The door's flung open, a voice is heard
Danbury's burning — I rode with word
Send a messenger, get your men!
His message finished, the horseman then
Staggered wearily to chair
And fell exhausted in a slumber there
The Colonel muttered, and who my friend,
Who is the messenger I can send?
Who is my messenger to be?
Said Sybil Ludington, "You have me."
So over the trails to the towns and farms
Sybil delivered the call to arms,
Up! up! there, soldier! You're needed to come!
The British are marching! — and then the drum
Of her horse's feet as she rode apace
To bring more men to the meeting place
Such is the legend of Sybil's ride
To summon the men from the countryside
A true tale, making her title clear
As a lovely feminine Paul Revere.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sybil_Ludington
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tombogan03884

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Re: Happy SHRTW Day
« Reply #9 on: April 20, 2017, 02:02:28 pm »
Paul Revere was badly discredited as a result of the failed Penobscot exposition.
 He was one of the commanders .
The ships were caught by the British in Penobscot Bay so the troops took to shore, lost all organization and straggled back to Mass through the woods.
Revere returned alone having misplaced his entire command.
As a result there is no general mention of him except his ride.
It was also Revere who printed and circulated the classic propaganda picture of the Boston Massacre.
His shop also got the contract for the copper sheeting for the hull of USS Constitution.