Unseen Spirits

THE shadows lay along Broadway,

  'Twas near the twilight-tide--

And slowly there a lady fair

  Was walking in her pride.

Alone walk'd she; but, viewlessly,

  Walk'd spirits at her side.

Peace charm'd the street beneath her feet,

  And Honor charm'd the air;

And all astir look'd kind on her,

  And call'd her good as fair--

For all God ever gave to her

  She kept with chary care.

She kept with care her beauties rare

  From lovers warm and true--

For her heart was cold to all but gold,

  And the rich came not to woo--

But honor'd well are charms to sell

  If priests the selling do.

Now walking there was one more fair--

  A slight girl, lily-pale;

And she had unseen company

  To make the spirit quail--

'Twixt Want and Scorn she walk'd forlorn,

  And nothing could avail.

No mercy now can clear her brow

  For this world's peace to pray;

For, as love's wild prayer dissolved in air,

  Her woman's heart gave way!--

But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven

  By man is cursed away!

Nathaniel Parker Willis

City Lyrics

Argument.--The poet starts from the Bowling Green to take his sweetheart

up to Thompson's for an ice, or (if she is inclined for more) ices. He

confines his muse to matters which any every-day man and young woman may

see in taking the same promenade for the same innocent refreshment.

COME out, love--the night is enchanting!

  The moon hangs just over Broadway;

The stars are all lighted and panting--

  (Hot weather up there, I dare say!)

'Tis seldom that "coolness" entices,

  And love is no better for chilling--

But come up to Thompson's for ices,

  And cool your warm heart for a shilling!

What perfume comes balmily o'er us?

  Mint juleps from City Hotel!

A loafer is smoking before us--

  (A nasty cigar, by the smell!)

Oh Woman! thou secret past knowing!

  Like lilachs that grow by the wall,

You breathe every air that is going,

  Yet gather but sweetness from all!

On, on! by St. Paul's, and the Astor!

  Religion seems very ill-plann'd!

For one day we list to the pastor,

  For six days we list to the band!

The sermon may dwell on the future,

  The organ your pulses may calm--

When--pest!--that remember'd cachucha

  Upsets both the sermon and psalm!

Oh, pity the love that must utter

  While goes a swift omnibus by!

(Though sweet is I scream* when the flutter

  Of fans shows thermometers high)--

But if what I bawl, or I mutter,

  Falls into your ear but to die,

Oh, the dew that falls into the gutter

  Is not more unhappy than I!

*Query.--Should this be Ice cream, or I scream?

          Printer's Devil.

Nathaniel Parker Willis

To Helen in a Huff

NAY, lady, one frown is enough

  In a life as soon over as this--

And though minutes seem long in a huff,

  They're minutes 'tis pity to miss!

The smiles you imprison so lightly

  Are reckon'd, like days in eclipse;

And though you may smile again brightly,

  You've lost so much light from your lips!

     Pray, lady, smile!

The cup that is longest untasted

  May be with our bliss running o'er,

And, love when we will, we have wasted

  An age in not loving before!

Perchance Cupid's forging a fetter

  To tie us together some day,

And, just for the chance, we had better

  Be laying up love, I should say!

     Nay, lady, smile!

Nathaniel Parker Willis

The Declaration

'TWAS late, and the gay company was gone,

And the light lay soft on the deserted room

From alabaster vases, and a scent

Of orange leaves, and sweet verbena came

Through the unshutter'd window on the air,

And the rich pictures with their dark old tints

Hung like a twilight landscape, and all things

Seem'd hush'd into a slumber. Isabel,

The dark-eyed, spiritual Isabel

Was leaning on her harp, and I had stay'd

To whisper what I could not when the crowd

Hung on her look like worshippers. I knelt,

And with the fervor of a lip unused

To the cool breath of reason, told my love.

There was no answer, and I took the hand

That rested on the strings, and press'd a kiss

Upon it unforbidden--and again

Besought her, that this silent evidence

That I was not indifferent to her heart,

Might have the seal of one sweet syllable.

I kiss'd the small white fingers as I spoke,

And she withdrew them gently, and upraised

Her forehead from its resting place, and look'd

Earnestly on me--She had been asleep!

Nathaniel Parker Willis

January 1, 1828

FLEETLY hath passed the year. The seasons came

Duly as they are wont--the gentle Spring,

And the deliscious Summer, and the cool,

Rich Autumn, with the nodding of the grain,

And Winter, like and old and hoary man,

Frosty and stiff--and are so chronicled,

We have read gladness in the new green leaf,

And in the first-blown violets; we have drunk

Cool water from the rock, and in the shade

Sunk to the noontide slumber;--we have pluck'd

The mellow fruitage of the bending tree,

And girded to our pleasant wanderings

When the cool wind came freshly from the hills;

And when the tinting of the Autumn leaves

Had faded from its glory, we have sat

By the good fires of Winter, and rejoiced

Over the fulness of the gathered sheaf.

'God hath been very good!' 'Tis He whose hand

Moulded the sunny hills, and hollow'd out

The shelter of the valleys, and doth keep

The fountains in their secret places cool;

And it is he who leadeth up the sun,

And ordereth the starry influences,

And tempereth the keenness of the frost--

And therefore, in the plenty of the feast,

And in the lifting of the cup, let Him

Have praises for the well-completed year.

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Love in a Cottage

THEY may talk of love in a cottage

And bowers of trellised vine--

Of nature bewitchingly simple,

And milkmaids half divine;

They may talk of the pleasure of sleeping

In the shade of a spreading tree,

And a walk in the fields at morning,

By the side of a footstep free!

But give me a sly flirtation

By the light of a chandelier--

With music to play in the pauses,

And nobody very near;

Or a seat on a silken sofa,

With a glass of pure old wine,

And mamma too blind to discover

The small white hand in mine.

Your love in a cottage is hungry,

Your vine is a nest for flies--

Your milkmaid shocks the Graces,

And simplicity talks of pies!

You lie down to your shady slumber

And wake with a bug in your ear,

And your damsel that walks in the morning

Is shod like a mountaineer.

True love is at home on a carpet,

And mightily likes his ease--

And true love has an eye for a dinner,

And starves beneath shady trees.

His wing is the fan of a lady,

His foot's an invisible thing,

And his arrow is tipped with a jewel,

And shot from a silver string.

Nathaniel Parker Willis