Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem "The Bells of San Blas" was the last work he completed before his death in 1882, and it carries with it a deep tone of reflection and farewell. The poem takes its name from the mission bells of San Blas, a coastal town in Nayarit, Mexico. The bells themselves, weathered with age and history, become symbolic markers of the passage of time, the fading of old traditions, and the inevitability of mortality. Longfellow meditates on how these bells once rang out with vigor in a world that seemed younger and more alive, and now toll faintly as both the world and the poet himself grow old.
Longfellow’s inspiration for writing the poem came from his own travels and the accounts he read of San Blas, as well as his broader lifelong fascination with bells as symbols of memory, faith, and continuity. He had written about bells in earlier works, but in this final poem the bells take on a more elegiac quality, reflecting his awareness that his own life was drawing to a close. The decline of the bells’ sound mirrors the waning of human vitality, and the poem becomes an extended metaphor for the poet’s personal farewell to life, art, and the world he cherished.
At the same time, "The Bells of San Blas" carries a sense of reverence for the endurance of faith and tradition. Though diminished, the bells still ring, reminding future generations of the past and connecting them to something larger than themselves. Longfellow’s choice to end his poetic career on this note suggests a desire to leave behind not just words, but a resonant reminder of the enduring human spirit. It is both a lament and a benediction, a fitting conclusion to the career of one of America’s most beloved poets.
Image: Portrait photograph of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) by Charles Taber.
"The Bells of San Blas"
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
What say the Bells of San Blas
To the ships that southward pass
From the harbor of Mazatlan?
To them it is nothing more
Than the sound of surf on the shore,—
Nothing more to master or man.
But to me, a dreamer of dreams,
To whom what is and what seems
Are often one and the same,—
The Bells of San Blas to me
Have a strange, wild melody,
And are something more than a name.
For bells are the voice of the church;
They have tones that touch and search
The hearts of young and old;
One sound to all, yet each
Lends a meaning to their speech,
And the meaning is manifold.
They are a voice of the Past,
Of an age that is fading fast,
Of a power austere and grand;
When the flag of Spain unfurled
Its folds o'er this western world,
And the Priest was lord of the land.
The chapel that once looked down
On the little seaport town
Has crumbled into the dust;
And on oaken beams below
The bells swing to and fro,
And are green with mould and rust.
"Is, then, the old faith dead,"
They say, "and in its stead
Is some new faith proclaimed,
That we are forced to remain
Naked to sun and rain,
Unsheltered and ashamed?
"Once in our tower aloof
We rang over wall and roof
Our warnings and our complaints;
And round about us there
The white doves filled the air,
Like the white souls of the saints.
"The saints! Ah, have they grown
Forgetful of their own?
Are they asleep, or dead,
That open to the sky
Their ruined Missions lie,
No longer tenanted?
"Oh, bring us back once more
The vanished days of yore,
When the world with faith was filled;
Bring back the fervid zeal,
The hearts of fire and steel,
The hands that believe and build.
"Then from our tower again
We will send over land and main
Our voices of command,
Like exiled kings who return
To their thrones, and the people learn
That the Priest is lord of the land!"
O Bells of San Blas, in vain
Ye call back the Past again!
The Past is deaf to your prayer;
Out of the shadows of night
The world rolls into light;
It is daybreak everywhere.
Cover image: Bell towers rise above the Parroquia de San Blas in San Blas, Nayarit, Mexico.
