The belfry tower of the old North Church,

As it rose above the graves on the hill,

Lonely and spectral and somber and still.

8. 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!

9. A hurry of hoofs in a village street,

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,