16. 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. 17. Beneath in the churchyard lay the dead, In their night-encampment on the hill, Wrapped in a 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!" 18. 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 were 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. 19. 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 gazed on the landscape far and near, Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, And turned and tightened his saddle-girth; But mostly lie 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. 20. A hurry of hoofs in the 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 its flight Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 21. The British column moved on through the darkness with no sound save the steady tread of marching feet. At first, farm-house and hamlet were wrapped in a deep repose, but as the night wore on signs of life began to appear. At every cross-road, horsemen galloped off at their approach, and hurried lights at chamber windows showed that slumber had been suddenly interrupted. At day-break the invading force reached Lexington, a little village twelve miles from Boston. Here minute-men to the number of about one hundred and twenty, aroused by the cry of Paul Revere, had hastily assembled. They offered no opposition to the British troops, but stood silent spectators to the unusual sight. [Illustration: THE FIGHT AT LEXINGTON]