I am a wandering, bitter shade;
Never of me was a hero made;
Poets have never sung my praise,
Nobody crowned my brows with bays;
And if you ask me the fatal cause,
I answer only, “My name was Dawes.”
’Tis all very well for children to hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere;
But why should my name be quite forgot,
Who rode so boldly and well, God wot?
Why should I ask? The reason is clear--
My name is Dawes and his Revere.
When the lights from the Old North Church flashed out,
Paul Revere was waiting about,
But I was already on my way.
The shadows of night fell cold and gray
As I rode, with never a break or pause;
But what was the use, when my name was Dawes?
History rings with his silvery name;
Closed to me are the portals of fame.
Had he been Dawes and I Revere,
No one had heard of him, I fear.
No one has heard of me because
He was Revere and I was Dawes.
Paul Revere was born within sight of the “Old North Church,” and almost
under its shadow he lived and died (1735-1818). It is fitting, then,
that to-day the passer should see, imbedded in the solid masonry of the
tower, a tablet bearing this inscription:
THE SIGNAL LANTERNS OF
PAUL REVERE
DISPLAYED IN THE STEEPLE OF THIS CHURCH
APRIL 18, 1775,
WARNED THE COUNTRY OF THE MARCH
OF THE BRITISH TROOPS TO
LEXINGTON AND CONCORD.