But, O ye Six that round him lay And bloodied up that April day! As Harrington fell, ye likewise fell-- At the door of the House wherein ye dwell; As Harrington came, ye likewise came And died at the door of your House of Fame. HYMN RALPH WALDO EMERSON [Sidenote: April 19, 1775] _This poem was written to be sung at the completion of the Concord Monument, April 19, 1836_ 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, or leave their children free, Bid Time and Nature gently spare The shaft we raise to them and thee. TICONDEROGA V. B. WILSON [Sidenote: May 10, 1775] _After the news of Concord fight, a volunteer expedition from Vermont and Connecticut, under Ethan Alien and Benedict Arnold, seized Ticonderoga and Crown Point, whose military stores were of great service. From its chime of bells, the French called Ticonderoga "Carillon."_ The cold, gray light of the dawning On old Carillon falls, And dim in the mist of the morning Stand the grim old fortress walls. No sound disturbs the stillness Save the cataract's mellow roar, Silent as death is the fortress, Silent the misty shore. But up from the wakening waters Comes the cool, fresh morning breeze, Lifting the banner of Britain, And whispering to the trees Of the swift gliding boats on the waters That are nearing the fog-shrouded land, With the old Green Mountain Lion, And his daring patriot band. But the sentinel at the postern Heard not the whisper low; He is dreaming of the banks of the Shannon As he walks on his beat to and fro, Of the starry eyes in Green Erin That were dim when he marched away, And a tear down his bronzed cheek courses, 'T is the first for many a day. A sound breaks the misty stillness, And quickly he glances around; Through the mist, forms like towering giants Seem rising out of the ground; A challenge, the firelock flashes, A sword cleaves the quivering air, And the sentry lies dead by the postern, Blood staining his bright yellow hair. Then, with a shout that awakens All the echoes of hillside and glen, Through the low, frowning gate of the fortress, Sword in hand, rush the Green Mountain men. The scarce wakened troops of the garrison Yield up their trust pale with fear; And down comes the bright British banner, And out rings a Green Mountain cheer.