In Concord, head to Old North Bridge, at the western end of the park to visit the spot where "the embattled farmers stood by the rude bridge and fired the shot heard 'round the world."

"By the rude bridge that arched the flood, their flag to April's breeze unfurled - here once the embattled farmers stood, and fired the shot heard 'round the world."

Suddenly we came to a spot where once must have been a rude bridge, the stones of which were scattered in the stream, and those on each bank entirely covered over with moss.

'By the rude bridge that arched the flood,' it started.

At the casino entrance on the rude bridge that arched the artificial flood, Hawk was leaning on the rail, looking at the water.

I had planned to read Emerson's "Hymn: Sung at the Completion of the Concord Monument" (1836) while standing on what it calls the "rude bridge," but I crossed and leaned against the Minuteman monument instead.

At this point a rude bridge, constructed of logs, was built across the stream.

A stream, over which rude and hasty bridges had been formed from the neighbouring timber, alone separated the horsemen from the encampment.

"By the rude bridge that arched the flood," we chanted, and my blood tingled.

What in the world was a rude bridge anyway?