The first stanza, before Emerson begins his disquisition into the nature of time and the dynamics of historical memory, focuses on the ragtag contingent of some 300 colonial soldiers who met the British determined not to let them occupy Concord and pilfer the precious supply of gunpowder stored in the town. At the center of Emerson’s commemoration of the shots fired at the Old North Bridge is the nature of heroism itself. After all, the American forces were hardly an army. The colonists who stood their ground at the bridge were at best loosely trained soldiers, more valuable for their enthusiasm and their idealism than for their military discipline or marksmanship.

They were artisans from Concord, farmers from along the river, lawyers and physicians, teenagers still finishing school. Armed with squirrel guns, they were willing to stand up to a detachment from the finest trained army in the world, willing to die for their country, a country that did not even exist yet, indeed whose declaration of political independence would not even be drafted for another year. They were willing to sacrifice their livelihood, their very lives, for an idea. Unfurling that flag in that April breeze was tantamount to an act of treason.