O requiem of the dying day! O Bells of Lynn! From the dark belfries of yon cloud-cathedral wafted, Your sounds aerial 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! The distant lighthouse hears, and with his flaming signal Answers you, passing the watchword on, O Bells of Lynn! And down the darkening coast run the tumultuous surges, And clap their hands, and shout to you, O Bells of Lynn ! Till from the shuddering sea, with your wild incantations, Ye summon up the spectral moon, O Bells of Lynn! |