No More Learning

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.





THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON

SIDNEY LANIER

[Sidenote: April 19, 1775]
_The skirmish at Lexington and the fight at Concord closed all
political bickering between Great Britain and her colonies and
began the War of the Revolution. The following verses are a
fragment of the "Psalm of the West. "_

Then haste ye, Prescott and Revere!
Bring all the men of Lincoln here;
Let Chelmsford, Littleton, Carlisle,
Let Acton, Bedford, hither file--
Oh, hither file, and plainly see
Out of a wound leap Liberty.

Say, Woodman April! all in green,
Say, Robin April! hast thou seen
In all thy travel round the earth
Ever a morn of calmer birth?
But Morning's eye alone serene
Can gaze across yon village-green
To where the trooping British run
Through Lexington.
Good men in fustian, stand ye still;
The men in red come o'er the hill,
_Lay down your arms, damned rebels! _ cry
The men in red full haughtily.
But never a grounding gun is heard;
The men in fustian stand unstirred;
Dead calm, save maybe a wise bluebird
Puts in his little heavenly word.
O men in red! if ye but knew
The half as much as bluebirds do,
Now in this little tender calm
Each hand would out, and every palm
With patriot palm strike brotherhood's stroke
Or ere these lines of battle broke.

O men in red!
if ye but knew
The least of all that bluebirds do,
Now in this little godly calm
Yon voice might sing the Future's Psalm--
The Psalm of Love with the brotherly eyes
Who pardons and is very wise--
Yon voice that shouts, high-hoarse with ire,
_Fire! _

The red-coats fire, the homespuns fall:
The homespuns' anxious voices call,
_Brother, art hurt? _ and _Where hit, John? _
And, _Wipe this blood_, and _Men, come on_,
And _Neighbor, do but lift my head_,
And _Who is wounded? Who is dead?
Seven are killed. My God! my God!
Seven lie dead on the village sod.
Two Harringtons, Parker, Hadley, Brown,
Monroe and Porter,--these are down. _
_Nay, look! stout Harrington not yet dead. _
He crooks his elbow, lifts his head.
He lies at the step of his own house-door;
He crawls and makes a path of gore.
The wife from the window hath seen, and rushed;
He hath reached the step, but the blood hath gushed;
He hath crawled to the step of his own house-door,
But his head hath dropped: he will crawl no more.
Clasp Wife, and kiss, and lift the head,
Harrington lies at his doorstep dead.