Nathaniel Parker Willis

The frozen ground looks gray. 'Twill shut the snow
    Out from its bosom, and the flakes will fall
Softly and lie upon it. The hushed flow
    Of the ice-covered waters, and the call
Of the cold driver to his oxen slow,
    And the complaining of the gust, are all
That I can hear of music - would that I
With the green summer like a leaf might die?
So will a man grow gray, and on his head
    The snow of years lie visibly, and so
Will come a frost when his green years have fled,
    And his chilled pulses sluggishly will flow,
And his deep voice be shaken - would that I
In the green summer of my youth might die!

The evening star will twinkle presently.
The last small bird is silent, and the bee
Has gone into his hive, and the shut flowers
Are bending as if sleeping on the stem,
And all sweet living things are slumbering
In the deep hush of nature's resting time.
The faded West looks deep, as if its blue
Were searchable, and even as I look,
The twilight hath stole over it, and made
Its liquid eye apparent, and above
To the far-stretching zenith, and around,
As if they waited on her like a queen,
Have stole out the innumerable stars
To twinkle like intelligence in heaven.
Is it not beautiful, my fair Adel?
Fit for the young affections to come out
And bathe in like an element! How well
The night is made for tenderness - so still
That the low whisper, scarcely a...

Common as light is love,
And its familiar voice wearies not ever.
- Shelley.


Love knoweth every form of air,
And every shape of earth,
And comes, unbidden, everywhere,
Like thought’s mysterious birth.
The moonlit sea and the sunset sky
Are written with Love’s words,
And you hear his voice unceasingly,
Like song in the time of birds.

He peeps into the warrior’s heart
From the tip of a stooping plume
And the serried spears, and the many men,
May not deny him room.
He’ll come to his tent in the weary night,
And be busy in his dream;
And he’ll float to his eye in morning light
Like a fay on a silver beam.

He hears the sound of the hunter’s gun,
And rides on the echo back,
And sighs in his ear, like a stirring...

Sogna il guerriér le schiere,
    Le sel ve il cacciatór;
    E sogna il pescatór;
    Le reti, e l' amo.        Metastatio.


Love knoweth every form of air,
    And every shape of earth,
And comes, unbidden, everywhere,
    Like thought's mysterious birth.
The moonlight sea and the sunset sky
    Are written with Love's words,
And you hear his voice unceasingly,
    Like song in the time of birds.

He peeps into the warrior's heart
    From the tip of a stooping plume,
And the serried spears, and the many men
    May not deny him room.
He'll come to his tent in the weary night,
    And be busy in his dream;
And he'll float to his eye in morning light
    Like a fay on a silver beam.

He hears the sound of the hu...

She stood up in the meekness of a heart
Resting on God, and held her fair young child
Upon her bosom, with its gentle eyes
Folded in sleep, as if its soul had gone
To whisper the baptismal vow in Heaven.
The prayer went up devoutly, and the lips
Of the good man glowed fervently with faith
That it would be, even as he had pray'd,
And the sweet child be gather'd to the fold
Of Jesus. As the holy words went on
Her lips mov'd silently, and tears, fast tears
Stole from beneath her lashes, and upon
The forehead of the beautiful child lay soft
With the baptismal water. Then I thought
That, to the eye of God, that mother's tears
Would be a deeper covenant, which sin
And the temptations of the world, and death
Would leave unbroken, and that she would know
In ...

On the cross-beam under the Old South bell
The nest of a pigeon is builded well.
In summer and winter that bird is there,
Out and in with the morning air:
I love to see him track the street,
With his wary eye and active feet;
And I often watch him as he springs,
Circling the steeple with easy wings,
’Till across the dial his shade has passed.
And the belfry edge is gained at last.
’Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note,
And the trembling throb in its mottled throat;
There’s a human look in its swelling breast,
And the gentle curve of its lowly crest;
And I often stop with the fear I feel,
He runs so close to the rapid wheel.

Whatever is rung on that noisy bell,
Chime of the hour or funeral knell,
The dove in the belfry must hear it well.

!’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 indiffe...

'Twas late, and the gay company was gone,
And 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 staid
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 pressed a kiss
Upon it unforbidden - and again
Besought her, that this silent evidence
That I was not indifferent ...

I had a passion when I was a child
For a most pleasant idleness. In June,
When the thick masses of the leaves were stirr'd
With a just audible murmur, and the streams
Fainted in their cool places to a low
Unnotic'd tinkle, and the reapers hung
Their sickles in the trees and went to sleep,
Then might you find me in an antique chair
Cushion'd with cunning luxury, which stood
In the old study corner, by a nook
Crowded with volumes of the old romance;
And there, the long and quiet summer day,
Lay I with half clos'd eyelids, turning o'er
Leaf after leaf, until the twilight blurr'd
Their singular and time-stain'd characters.
'Twas a forgetful lore, and it is blent
With dreams that in my fitful slumber came,
And is remember'd faintly. But to-day
With the st...

Innocent dreams be thine! The silver night
Is a fit curtain for thy lovely sleep.
The stars keep watch above thee, and the moon
Sits like a brooding spirit up in Heaven,
Ruling the night's deep influences, and life
Hath a hushed pulse, and the suspended leaves
Sleep with their whisperings as if the dew
Were a soft finger on the lip of sound.
Innocent dreams be thine! thy heart sends up
Its thoughts of purity like pearly bells
Rising in crystal fountains, and the sin
That thou hast seen by day, will, like a shade,
Pass from thy memory, as if the pure
Had an unconscious ministry by night.

Midnight - and now for music! Would I were
A sound that I might steal upon thy dreams,
And, like the breathing of my flute, distil
Sweetly upon thy senses. Softly, b...

It was a sultry day of summer time.
The sun pour'd down upon the ripen'd grain
With quivering heat, and the suspended leaves
Hung motionless. The cattle on the hills
Stood still, and the divided flock were all
Laying their nostrils to the cooling roots,
And the sky look'd like silver, and it seem'd
As if the air had fainted, and the pulse
Of nature had run down, and ceas'd to beat.

'Haste thee, my child!' the Syrian mother said,
'Thy father is athirst' - and from the depths
Of the cool well under the leaning tree,
She drew refreshing water, and with thoughts
Of God's sweet goodness stirring at her heart,
She bless'd her beautiful boy, and to his way
Committed him. And he went lightly on,
With his soft hands press'd closely to the cool
Stone vessel, ...

Alone! alone! How drear it is
    Always to be alone!
In such a depth of wilderness,
    The only thinking one!
The waters in their path rejoice,
    The trees together sleep -
But I have not one silver voice
    Upon my ear to creep!

The sun upon the silent hills
    His mesh of beauty weaves,
There's music in the laughing rills
    And in the whispering leaves.
The red deer like the breezes fly
    To meet the bounding roe,
But I have not a human sigh
    To cheer me as I go.

I've hated men - I hate them now -
    But, since they are not here,
I thirst for the familiar brow -
    Thirst for the stealing tear.
And I should love to see the one,
    And feel the other creep,
And then again I'd be alone
    Amid the...

Deep, it is said, under yonder pyramid, has for ages lain concealed the Table of Emerald, on which the thrice-great Hermes engraved, before the flood, the secret of Alchemy that gives gold at will. Epicurean.


That 'Emerald Green of the Pyramid' -
    Were I where it is laid,
I'd ask no king for his heavy crown,
    As its hidden words were said.
The pomp and the glitter of worldly pride
    Should fetter my moments not,
And the natural thought of an open mind,
    Should govern alone my lot.

Would I feast all day? revel all night?
    Laugh with a weary heart?
Would I sleep away the breezy morn?
    And wake till the stars depart?
Would I gain no knowledge, and search no deep
    For the wisdom that sages knew?
Would I run to waste with a h...

There’s something in a noble boy,
A brave, free-hearted, careless one,
With his unchecked, unbidden joy,
His dread of books and love of fun,
And in his clear and ready smile,
Unshaded by a thought of guile,
And unrepressed by sadness,
Which brings me to my childhood back,
As if I trod its very track,
And felt its very gladness.
And yet it is not in his play,
When every trace of thought is lost,
And not when you would call him gay,
That his bright presence thrills me most.
His shout may ring upon the hill,
His voice be echoed in the hall,
His merry laugh like music trill,
And I unheeding hear it all;
For, like the wrinkles on my brow,
I scarcely notice such things now.
But when, amid the earnest game,
He stops as if he music heard,

'Twas a rich night in June. The air was all
Fragrance and balm, and the wet leaves were stirred
By the soft fingers of the southern wind,
And caught the light capriciously, like wings
Haunting the greenwood with a silvery sheen.
The stars might not be numbered, and the moon
Exceeding beautiful, went up in heaven,
And took her place in silence, and a hush,
Like the deep Sabbath of the night, came down
And rested upon nature. I was out
With three sweet sisters wandering, and my thoughts
Took color of the moonlight, and of them,
And I was calm and happy. Their deep tones,
Low in the stillness, and by that soft air
Melted to reediness, bore out, like song,
The language of high feelings, and I felt
How excellent is woman when she gives
To the fine pulses of he...

All that thou art, I thrillingly
    And sensibly do feel;
For my eye doth see, and my ear doth hear,
    And my heart is not of steel;
I meet thee in the festal hall -
    I turn thee in the dance -
And I wait, as would a worshipper,
    The giving of thy glance.

Thy beauty is as undenied
    As the beauty of a star;
And thy heart beats just as equally,
    Whate'er thy praises are;
And so long without a parallel
    Thy loveliness hath shone,
That, follow'd like the tided moon,
    Thou mov'st as calmly on.

Thy worth I, for myself, have seen -
    I know that thou art leal;
Leal to a woman's gentleness,
    And thine own spirit's weal;
Thy thoughts are deeper than a dream,
    And holier than gay;
And thy mind is a h...

Pass thou on! for the vow is said
    That is never broken;
The hand of blessing hath, trembling, laid
On snowy forehead and simple braid,
    And the word is spoken
By lips that never their words betray'd.

Pass thou on! for thy human all
    Is richly given,
And the voice that claim'd its holy thrall
Must be sweeter for life than music's fall,
    And, this side Heaven,
Thy lip may never that trust recal.

Pass thou on! yet many an eye
    Will droop and glisten;
And the hushing heart in vain will try
To still its pulse as thy step goes by
    And we "vainly listen
For thy voice of witching melody."

Pass thou on! yet a sister's tone
    In its sweetness lingers,
Like some twin echo sent back alone,
Or the bird's soft ...

Sleep on! Sleep on! beguiling
    The hours with happy rest.
Sleep! - by that dreamy smiling,
    I know that thou art blest.
Thy mother over thee hath leant
    To guard thee from annoy,
And the angel of the innocent
    Was in that dream, my boy!

The tinting of the summer rose
    Is on that pillowed cheek,
And the quietness of summer thought
    Has made thy forehead meek.
And yet that little ample brow,
    And arching lip, are fraught
With pledges of high manliness,
    And promises of thought.

Thy polished limbs are rounded out
    As is the Autumn fruit,
And full and reedy is the voice
    That slumber hath made mute.
And, looking on thy perfect form -
    Hearing thy pleasant tone -
I almost weep for joy, my so...