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HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) was born at Portland, Me. He entered Bowdoin College with Nathaniel Hawthorne, and graduated with the famous class of 1825. He then began the study of law in his father's office, but was soon called to the chair of Modern Languages in his Alma Mater. A few years later, he was made professor in Harvard College.

It was during his residence at Cambridge that he won the hearts of all American children by his beautiful poems, The Children's Hour, Children, The Village Blacksmith, and The Old Arm Chair. By many he is regarded as the most remarkable literary man our country has produced. He is without doubt the most popular poet of America.

That the poetry of Longfellow appeals most strongly to the people, no one will deny. But why is this so? It may be answered in this way.

1. Longfellow loved the common people. See how faithfully and tenderly he describes the village blacksmith, the farmers of Grand-Pré, Basil the blacksmith, and Priscilla at the spinning wheel.

2. He had an intense love of nature. See how beautifully he describes the many scenes which he witnessed as he strolled in fields, in groves, and country roads. (Hiawatha, Evangeline, An April Day, Autumn, and Woods in Winter.)

3. Longfellow was a deeply religious man. What excellent Christian thoughts are found in Evangeline! In American literature, where can you find truer pictures of a Catholic priest? How charmingly he describes the religious life of the Acadian peasants!

Willy Pogany

LONGFELLOW

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE OF PAUL REVERE

Paul Revere, the American patriot famous for his midnight ride from Boston to Lexington, was born at Boston in the year 1735. He, like his father, was a goldsmith by trade. Shortly before the Revolution, he built a powder mill. He was also one of the party who threw the cargo of tea into Boston Harbor. He belonged to the society of thirty mechanics who banded together to watch the movements of the British. When it was known that the English intended to surprise the patriots at Lexington and Concord, Paul Revere crossed over to Charlestown, and at a signal, rode as fast as he could towards Lexington and Concord, telling the minutemen to be ready for the redcoats. After passing through Lexington, he was stopped at Lincoln; but a friend carried word to Concord. During the War for Independence, he rose to be Lieutenant-Colonel of the Artillery.

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,

1 The Old North Church, now called Christ's Church, is situated at 189 Salem Street, Boston.

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 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 somber 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 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, 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,

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