All language subtitles for Animaniacs.S03E24.The.Flame.Returns.Repack.1080p.UPSCALED.DD.5.1.x265-EDGE2020_track3_[eng]

[♪♪♪]

[♪♪♪]

[YAWNS]

It's great to be back in action.

[SNIFFING]

Anybody smell something?
Like something burning?

Oh, my gosh!
It is burning.

This candle's on fire.

Run for your lives!
Fire! Fire!

No, wait. What am
I thinking?

I am a fire.

Hey, I just woke up.
I'm groggy.

[YAWNS]

So, what's on the agenda
tonight?

Oh. A little writing, huh?

Here we go again.

Well, you can count on me, pal.

I'll be your beacon
in the night.

So, what do you call this opus
you're working on?

"The Landlord's Tale."

Uh...you might want
a catchier title.

Hm.

Uh. But we can
work that out later.

Mm.

Don't mind me. I'll just
read over your shoulder.

"Listen, my children
And you shall hear

"Of the midnight ride
Of Paul Revere

Hm. Nice opening.

On the 18th of April
In '75

Hardly a man is now alive

Who remembers that famous day
And year.

[♪♪♪]

FLAME:
He said to his friend

If the British march

By land or sea
From the town tonight

Hang a lantern aloft
In the belfry arch

Of the North Church tower
As a signal light

One if by land
Or two if by sea

And I on the opposite
Shore will be

Ready to ride
And spread the alarm

Through every Middlesex
Village And farm

For the country folk to be up
And to arm.

FLAME: Then he said
Good night.

FLAME:
And with muffled oar

Silently rowed to
The Charlestown shore

Just as the moon
Rose over the bay

Where swinging wide
At her moorings lay

The Somerset, British
Man-of-war

A phantom ship
With each mast And spar

Across the moon
Like a prison bar

And a huge black hulk
That was magnified

By its own reflection
In the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend
Through alley and street

Wanders and watches
With eager ears

Till in silence around him
He hears

The muster of men
At the barrack door.

The sound of arms
And the tramp of feet

And the measured tread
Of the grenadiers

Marching down to their boats
On the shore.

[GASPS]

[♪♪♪]

Then he climbed to the tower
Of the church

Up 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--

Whoa!

Ow!
Up 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.

Beneath, in the churchyard
Lay the dead

In their night encampment
On the hill

Wrapped in 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!"

[GULPS]

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
Are 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.

Oh, my gosh!

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 at the landscape
Far and near

Then impetuous
Stamped the earth

And turned and tightened
His saddle girth.

But mostly he 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!

That would be yours truly.

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.

[♪♪♪]

He's my twin brother.

I'm the cute one.

Yeah, right.

One if by land
or two if by sea.

[WHINNIES]

[♪♪♪]

The British are coming!
The British are coming!

FLAME:
A hurry of hooves
In a 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.

The British are coming!

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 his flight

Kindled the land into flame
With its heat.

I like the part about
the flame. Good stuff.

He has left the village
And mounted the steep

And beneath him
Tranquil and broad and deep

Is the Mystic
Meeting the ocean tides

And under the alders
That skirt its edge

Now soft on the sand
Now loud on the ledge

Is heard the tramp of his steed
As he rides.

It was 12 by the village clock

When he crossed the bridge
Into Medford town.

He heard the crowing
Of the cock

[CROWS]

And the barking
Of the farmer's dog

[BARKING]

And felt the damp
Of the river fog

That rises after the sun
Goes down.

The British are coming!
The British are coming!

[♪♪♪]

The British are coming!

It was 1 by the village clock

When he galloped
Into Lexington.

He saw the gilded weathercock

Swim in the moonlight
As he passed

And the meeting-house windows
Blank and bare

Gaze at him with
A spectral glare

As if they already stood aghast

At the bloody work they would
Look upon.

The British are coming!
[BELL RINGING]

It was 2 by the village clock

When he came to the bridge
In Concord town.

The British are coming!
The British are coming!

[SHEEP BLEATING]

He heard the bleating
Of the flock

And the twitter of birds
Among the trees

And felt the breath
Of the morning breeze

Blowing over the meadows brown.

The British are coming!
The British are coming!

And one was safe and asleep
In his bed

Who at the bridge would be
First to fall

Who that day would be
Lying dead

Pierced by a British
Musket ball.

You know the rest.
In the books you have read

How the British Regulars
Fired and fled

How the farmers gave them
Ball for ball

From behind each fence
And farmyard wall

Chasing the redcoats
Down the lane

Then crossing the fields
To emerge again

Under the trees at the turn
Of the road

And only pausing
To fire and load.

So through the night
Rode Paul Revere

And so through the night
Went his cry of alarm

To every Middlesex village
And farm.

The British are coming!
The British are coming!

A cry of defiance
And not of fear

A voice in the darkness
A knock at the door

And a word that shall echo
For evermore!

For, borne on the night-wind
Of the Past

Through all our history
To the last

In the hour of darkness
And peril and need

The people will waken
And listen to hear

The hurrying hoof-beats
Of that steed

And the midnight message
Of Paul Revere.

"By Henry Wadsworth
Longfellow."

We're finished. All right!

Nice poem, Hank.

There's just one thing to fix.

The title's still
a little weak.

"The Landlord's Tale"
just doesn't cut it.

Hm.

How about something exciting?

Something like,
"Night Of The Flame,"

or "The Light In The Tower
Window" or--

"Paul Revere's Ride."

Yeah.

"Paul Revere's Ride."
Perfect!

Well, glad I could help
brighten up your night.

And remember...

[YAWNS]

if you ever need me again,
just ring.

[♪♪♪]

[BELLS RINGING]

[WHINNIES]

[♪♪♪]

ALL:
Ciao, America!