Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
The Atlantic Monthly
(1866)
“ THE BELLS OF LYNN, HEARD AT NAHANT. O curfew of the setting sun! O Bells of Lynn! O requiem of the dying day! O Bells of Lynn! From the dark belfries of yon cloud-cathedral wafted, Your sounds aërial seem to float, O Bells of Lynn! Borne on the evening wind across the crimson twilight, O'er land and sea they rise and fall, O Bells of Lynn! The fisherman in his boat, far out beyond the headland, Listens, and leisurely rows ashore, O Bells of Lynn! Over the shining sands the wandering cattle homeward Follow each other at your call, O Bells of Lynn! ”
