Nathaniel Parker Willis

Nathaniel Parker Willis was an American author, poet, and editor who was among the most popular literary figures of his time. He founded and edited several periodicals and wrote many poems, essays, and travelogues. Willis was known for his urbane style, which influenced the development of 19th-century American literature. Despite his widespread popularity during his lifetime, his work fell out of favor in the years following his death.

January 20, 1806

January 20, 1867

English

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A Child's First Impression Of A Star.

She had been told that God made all the stars
That twinkled up in heaven, and now she stood
Watching the coming of the twilight on,
As if it were a new and perfect world,
And this were its first eve. How beautiful
Must be the work of nature to a child
In its first fresh impression! Laura stood
By the low window, with the silken lash
Of her soft eye upraised, and her sweet mouth
Half parted with the new and strange delight
Of beauty that she could not comprehend,
And had not seen before. The purple folds
Of the low sunset clouds, and the blue sky
That look'd so still and delicate above,
Fill'd her young heart with gladness, and the eve
Stole on with its deep shadows, and she still
Stood looking at the west with that half smile,
As if a pleasant thought wer...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

A Portrait.

She was not very beautiful, if it be beauty's test
To match a classic model when perfectly at rest;
And she did not look bewitchingly, if witchery it be,
To have a forehead and a lip transparent as the sea.

The fashion of her gracefulness was not a follow'd rule,
And her effervescent sprightliness was never learnt at school;
And her words were all peculiar, like the fairy's who 'spoke pearls;'
And her tone was ever sweetest midst the cadences of girls.

Said I she was not beautiful? Her eyes upon your sight
Broke with the lambent purity of planetary light,
And an intellectual beauty, like a light within a vase,
Touched every line with glory of her animated face.

Her mind with sweets was laden, like a morning breath in June,
And her thoughts awoke in harmony,...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

A Portrait.

She's beautiful! Her raven curls
Have broken hearts in envious girls -
And then they sleep in contrast so,
Like raven feathers upon snow,
And bathe her neck - and shade the bright
Dark eye from which they catch the light,
As if their graceful loops were made
To keep that glorious eye in shade,
And holier make its tranquil spell,
Like waters in a shaded well.

I cannot rhyme about that eye -
I've match'd it with a midnight sky -
I've said 'twas deep, and dark, and wild,
Expressive, liquid, witching, mild -
But the jewell'd star, and the living air
Have nothing in them half so fair.

She's noble - noble - one to keep
Embalm'd for dreams of fever'd sleep -
An eye for nature - taste refin'd,
Perception swift, and ballanc'd mind, -
And...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Andre's Request.

It is not the fear of death
    That damps my brow;
It is not for another breath
    I ask thee now;
I can die with a lip unstirr'd
    And a quiet heart -
Let but this prayer be heard
    Ere I depart.

I can give up my mother's look -
    My sister's kiss;
I can think of love - yet brook
    A death like this!
I can give up the young fame
    I burn'd to win -
All - but the spotless name
    I glory in!

Thine is the power to give,
    Thine to deny,
Joy for the hour I live -
    Calmness to die.
By all the brave should cherish,
    By my dying breath,
I ask that I may perish
    With a soldier's death!

Nathaniel Parker Willis

April.

    A violet by a mossy stone,
    Half hidden from the eye,
Fair as a star, when only one,
    Is shining in the sky.                            Wordsworth


I have found violets. April hath come on,
And the cool winds feel softer, and the rain
Falls in the beaded drops of summer time.
You may hear birds at morning, and at eve
The tame dove lingers till the twilight falls,
Cooing upon the eaves, and drawing in
His beautiful bright neck, and from the hills,
A murmur like the hoarseness of the sea
Tells the release of waters, and the earth
Sends up a pleasant smell, and the dry leaves
Are lifted by the grass - and so I know
That Nature, with her delicate ear, hath heard
The dropping of the velvet foot of Spring.
Smell of my violets! I foun...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

City Lyrics

Argument. - The poet starts from the Bowling Green to take his sweetheart up to Thompsons 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 Thompsons for ices,
And cool your warm heart for a shilling!

What perfume comes balmily oer us?
Mint juleps from City Hotel!
A loafer is smoking before us,
(A nasty cigar, by the smell!)
Oh Woman! thou secret past knowing!

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Contemplation.

'They are all up - the innumerable stars -
And hold their place in heaven. My eyes have been
Searching the pearly depths through which they spring
Like beautiful creations, till I feel
As if it were a new and perfect world,
Waiting in silence for the word of God
To breathe it into motion. There they stand,
Shining in order, like a living hymn
Written in light, awaking at the breath
Of the celestial dawn, and praising Him
Who made them, with the harmony of spheres.
I would I had an angel's ear to list
That melody! I would that I might float
Up in that boundless element, and feel
Its ravishing vibrations, like a pulse
Beating in heaven! My spirit is athirst
For music - rarer music! I would bathe
My soul in a serener atmosphere
Than this! I long to ming...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Dedication Hymn.

The perfect world by Adam trod,
Was the first temple - built by God -
His fiat laid the corner stone,
And heav'd its pillars, one by one.

He hung its starry roof on high -
The broad illimitable sky;
He spread its pavement, green and bright,
And curtain'd it with morning light.

The mountains in their places stood -
The sea - the sky - and "all was good;"
And, when its first pure praises rang,
The "morning stars together sang."

Lord! 'tis not ours to make the sea
And earth and sky a house for thee;
But in thy sight our off'ring stands -
A humbler temple, "made with hands."

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Discrimination.

I used to love a radiant girl -
    Her lips were like a rose leaf torn;
Her heart was as free as a floating curl,
    Or a breeze at morn;
Her step as light as a Peri's daughter,
And her eye as soft as gliding water.

Witching thoughts like things half hid
    Lurk'd beneath her silken lashes,
And a modest droop of the veined lid
    Oft hid their flashes -
But to me the charm was more complete
As the blush stole up its fringe to meet.

Paint me love as a honey bee!
    Rosy mouths are things to sip;
Nothing was ever so sweet to me
    As Marion's lip -
Till I learned that a deeper magic lies
In kissing the lids of her closed eyes.

Her sweet brow I seldom touch,
    Save to part her raven hair;
Her bright cheek I gaze on mu...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Hero.

Claudio. Know you any Hero?
Hero. None my lord!                As You Like it.


Gentle and modest Hero! I can see
Her delicate figure, and her soft blue eye,
Like a warm vision - lovely as she stood,
Veiled in the presence of young Claudio.
Modesty bows her head, and that young heart
That would endure all suffering for the love
It hideth, is as tremulous as the leaf
Forsaken of the Summer. She hath flung
Her all upon the venture of her vow,
And in her trust leans meekly, like a flower
By the still river tempted from its stem,
And on its bosom floating.
                        Once again
I see her, and she standeth in her pride,
With her soft eye enkindled, and her lip
Curled with its sweet resentment, like a line
Of li...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Idleness.

The rain is playing its soft pleasant tune
Fitfully on the skylight, and the shade
Of the fast flying clouds across my book
Passes with delicate change. My merry fire
Sings cheerfully to itself; my musing cat
Purrs as she wakes from her unquiet sleep,
And looks into my face as if she felt
Like me the gentle influence of the rain.
Here have I sat since morn, reading sometimes,
And sometimes listening to the faster fall
Of the large drops, or rising with the stir
Of an unbidden thought, have walked awhile
With the slow steps of indolence, my room,
And then sat down composedly again
To my quaint book of olden poetry.
It is a kind of idleness, I know;
And I am said to be an idle man -
And it is very true. I love to go
Out in the pleasant sun, and let my ...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Isabel.

They said that I was strange. I could not bear
Confinement, and I lov'd to feel the wind
Blowing upon my forehead, and when morn
Came like an inspiration from the East,
And the cool earth, awaking like a star
In a new element, sent out its voice,
And tempted me with music, and the breath
Of a delicious perfume, and the dye
Of the rich forests and the pastures green,
To come out and be glad - I would not stay
To bind my gushing spirit with a book.

Fourteen bright summers - and my heart had grown
Impatient in its loneliness, and yearn'd
For something that was like itself, to love.
She came - the stately Isabel - as proud
And beautiful, and gentle as my dream;
And with my wealth of feeling, lov'd I her.
Older by years, and wiser of the world,
She ...

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 pluckd
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 ...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

January 1, 1828.

Fleetly hath past the year. The seasons came
Duly as they are wont - the gentle Spring,
And the delicious Summer, and the cool,
Rich Autumn, with the nodding of the grain,
And Winter, like an old and hoary man,
Frosty and stiff - and so are 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 noon-tide slumber; - we have eat
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 han...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

January 1, 1829.

Winter is come again. The sweet south west
Is a forgotten wind, and the strong earth
Has laid aside its mantle to be bound
By the frost fetter. There is not a sound
Save of the skaiter's heel, and there is laid
An icy finger on the lip of streams,
And the clear icicle hangs cold and still,
And the snow-fall is noiseless as a thought.
Spring has a rushing sound, and Summer sends
Many sweet voices with its odors out,
And Autumn rustleth its decaying robe
With a complaining whisper. Winter's dumb!
God made his ministry a silent one,
And he has given him a foot of steel
And an unlovely aspect, and a breath
Sharp to the senses - and we know that He
Tempereth well, and hath a meaning hid
Under the shadow of his hand. Look up!
And it shall be interpreted - ...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Lassitude.

I will throw by my book. The weariness
Of too much study presses on my brain,
And thought's close fetter binds upon my brow
Like a distraction, and I must give o'er.
Morning hath seen me here, and noon, and eve;
And midnight with its deep and solemn hush
Has look'd upon my labors, and the dawn,
With its sweet voices, and its tempting breath
Has driven me to rest - and I can bear
The burden of such weariness no more.
I have foregone society, and fled
From a sweet sister's fondness, and from all
A home's alluring blandishments, and now
When I am thirsting for them, and my heart
Would leap at the approaches of their kind
And gentle offices, they are not here,
And I must feel that I am all alone.
Oh, for the fame of this forgetful world
How much we suffe...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

Little Florence Gray

I was in Greece. It was the hour of noon,
And the Ægean wind had dropped asleep
Upon Hymettus, and the thymy isles
Of Salamis and Ægina lay hung
Like clouds upon the bright and breathless sea.
I had climbed up th Acropolis at morn,
And hours had fled as time will in a dream
Amid its deathless ruins, for the air
Is full of spirits in these mighty fanes,
And they walk with you! As it sultrier grew,
I laid me down within a shadow deep
Of a tall column of the Parthenon,
And in an absent idleness of thought
I scrawled upon the smooth and marble base.
Tell me, O memory, what wrote I there?
The name of a sweet child I knew at Rome!

I was in Asia. Twas a peerless night
Upon the plains of Sardis, and the moon,
Touching my eyelids through the wind-stir...

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 i...

Nathaniel Parker Willis

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