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Bright summer suns In all the fervor of their noontide heat Obtain no power to harm thee, for thou…","encoding":{"@type":"MediaObject","contentUrl":"https://boston.fyi/work/nahant.json","encodingFormat":"application/json"},"genre":"ghost_story","identifier":"urn:lemay:boston:entity:nahant","inLanguage":"en","isPartOf":{"@id":"https://boston.fyi/#archive"},"license":"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Public_domain_in_the_United_States","name":"Nahant","provenance":{"@id":"https://boston.fyi/work/nahant#provenance"},"temporalCoverage":"1884","url":"https://boston.fyi/work/nahant","version":1,"workExample":[{"@type":"CreativeWork","citation":"Samuel Adams Drake, A Book of New England Legends and Folk Lore in Prose and Poetry (Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1884)","creator":{"@type":"Person","name":"unattributed — the collector names no informant"},"name":"As printed in Samuel Adams Drake (1884)"}]},{"@id":"https://boston.fyi/work/nahant#breadcrumbs","@type":"BreadcrumbList","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","item":"https://boston.fyi","name":"The Boston Archive","position":1},{"@type":"ListItem","item":"https://boston.fyi/work","name":"Works","position":2},{"@type":"ListItem","item":"https://boston.fyi/work/nahant","name":"Nahant","position":3}]}]},"json_url":"https://boston.fyi/work/nahant.json","record":{"alternate_names":[],"canonical_name":"Nahant","canonical_path":"/work/nahant","created_at":"2026-09-02T23:02:35.015682Z","description":"EuDE rock- bound coast, where erst the Indian roamed, The iron shoulders of thy furrowed clilfs, Made black with smiting, still in stubborn force Resist the scourging wave. 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Bright summer suns In all the fervor of their noontide heat Obtain no power to harm thee, for thou wrapp'st Thy watery mantle round thee, ever fresh With ocean's coolness, and defy'st their rage. 150 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. The storm-cloud is thy glory. Then, thou deck'st Thyself with majesty, and to its frown And voice of thunder, answerest boldly back, And from thy watch-towers hurl'st the blinding spray, While every dark and hollow cavern sounds Its trumpet for the battle. Yet 't is sweet Amid thy fissured rocks to ruminate, Marking thy grottos with mosaic paved Of glittering pebbles, and that balm to breathe Which gives the elastic nerves a freer play, And tints the languid cheek with hues of health. The sand-beach and the sea ! Who can divine \"Their mystic intercourse, that day and night Surceaseth not 1 On comes the thundering surge, Lifting its mountain-head, with menace stern, To whelm the unresisting; but impelled In all the plenitude of kingly power To change its purpose of authority, Breaking its wand…","variants":[{"citation":"Samuel Adams Drake, A Book of New England Legends and Folk Lore in Prose and Poetry (Boston: Roberts Brothers, 1884)","collected_by":"Samuel Adams Drake","collected_place":"Boston and eastern Massachusetts","collected_year":1884,"source_document_id":"38f21f7a-afce-4833-a000-73a731510003","teller_person_id":null,"teller_text":"unattributed — the collector names no informant","variant_label":"As printed in Samuel Adams Drake (1884)","variant_text":"EuDE rock- bound coast, where erst the Indian roamed, The iron shoulders of thy furrowed clilfs, Made black with smiting, still in stubborn force Resist the scourging wave. Bright summer suns In all the fervor of their noontide heat Obtain no power to harm thee, for thou wrapp'st Thy watery mantle round thee, ever fresh With ocean's coolness, and defy'st their rage. 150 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. The storm-cloud is thy glory. Then, thou deck'st Thyself with majesty, and to its frown And voice of thunder, answerest boldly back, And from thy watch-towers hurl'st the blinding spray, While every dark and hollow cavern sounds Its trumpet for the battle. Yet 't is sweet Amid thy fissured rocks to ruminate, Marking thy grottos with mosaic paved Of glittering pebbles, and that balm to breathe Which gives the elastic nerves a freer play, And tints the languid cheek with hues of health. The sand-beach and the sea ! Who can divine \"Their mystic intercourse, that day and night Surceaseth not 1 On comes the thundering surge, Lifting its mountain-head, with menace stern, To whelm the unresisting; but impelled In all the plenitude of kingly power To change its purpose of authority, Breaking its wand of might, doth hurry back ; And then, repenting, with new wrath return. Yet still that single, silvery line abides, Lowly, and fearless, and immutable. God gives it strength. So may he deign to grant The sand-line of our virtues power to cope With all temptation. When some secret snare Doth weave its meshes round our trembling souls. That in their frailty turn to him alone. So may he give us strength. There is a good road over the Long Beach ; but when the tide is nearly down, a broad esplanade of sand beckons us aside from the embankment over which that is now built. Here is a course such as no Eoman charioteer ever drove upon. Here the heavy farm-carts that are gathering seaweed leave scarcely a print of their broad-tired wheels. Stamp upon it with the foot, and see how hard and firm it is ; or smile at the Hghtning it emits under the impact, — your childhood's wonder. We pass over half an acre of sand, moulded in tlie imjjress of little Avavelets that have left their print like cunning chiselling or like masses of sandy hair in crimp. There behind a clump of rocks crouches a sports- man, who is patiently waiting for twilight to come, when the black ducks and coots fly over ; those stooping figures among the rocks are not treasure-seekers, but clam-diggers. Having crossed the Long Beach, we betake ourselves again to the road which winds around the shore of Little Nahant to a second beach, half a mile long. We again leave this behind, to climb the rocky ascent of the greater promontory, then finding ourselves in the long street of the village. Nahant is tempting to artist or antiquary, but especially so to the man of refined literary tastes, who knows no greater enjoyment than to visit the spots consecrated by genius. In Jonathan Johnson's house Longfellow partly wrote \" Hiawatha ; \" and here, at Nahant, was also the birthplace of the \"Bells of Lynn,\" which the poet heard. Borne on the evening wind across the crimson twilight. And we too hear their musical vibrations, softened by the dis- tance, lingering lovingly in the air, and we can see as in our own memories the pictures to which his matchless verse gives life : The fisherman in his boat, far out beyond the headland, Listens, and leisurely rows ashore, 0 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 Math his flaming signal Answers you, passing the watchword on, 0 Bells of Lynn ! And down the darkening coast run the tumultuous surges, And clap their hands, and shout to you, 0 Bells of Lynn ! Till from the shuddering sea, with your wild incantations, Ye summon up the spectral moon, O Bells of Lynn ! And startled at the sight, like the weird woman of Endor, Ye cry aloud, and then are still, 0 Bells of Lynn ! 152 NEW-ENGLAND LEGENDS. The \" Ladder of St. Augustine \" and other of his lyrics in which the actual presence of the sea is felt by the reader were also written here under its influence, for Longfellow is always moved by it to a pitch of high-wrought emotion — to a kind of speechless speech — which only the impressible nature knows. In the \" Dedication \" to his Seaside verses he gives us the key to this exquisite spiritual sensibility, — Therefore I hope to join your seaside walk, Saddened, and mostly silent, with emotion ; Not interrupting with intrusive talk The grand, majestic symphonies of ocean. And in the opening stanza of \" The Secret of the Sea\" he frankly confesses to the fascination Avith Avhich it possesses him : — Ah ! what pleasant visions haunt me As I gaze upon the sea ! All the old romantic legends, All my dreams, come hack to me. Somewhat farther on we descend into an enticing nook, shaded by two aged and gigantic willows. Here, iu the modest cottage of Mrs. Hannah Hood, surrounded by old Dutch folios, Motley began his \" Dutch Eepublic.\" By ascending the rise of ground beyond the Hollow we may see the roof of the cottage where Prescott, who died, like Petrarch, in his chair, worked at \"Ferdi- nand and Isabella,\" the \"Conquest of Mexico,\" and \" Philip II.\" On the point beyond us, assisted by his gifted wife, Agassiz produced \"Brazil.\" Willis, Curtis, Mrs. Sigourney, and an admiring host of lesser celebrities who have felt its magnetic influence, celebrate Nahant in prose or verse. The residence of such eminent representatives of American literature could hardly fail to impress itself upon the social character of a place ; but it has also made this little peninsula one of the best remem- bered spots of American ground to scholars of the Old World who have visited it. And the privilege of traversing her rocky shores, with Longfellow or Agassiz for a guide, was indeed some- thing to be remembered. 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