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!
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,
* Query.-Should this be Ice cream, or I scream ?-Printer's Devil.
Falls into your ear but to die, Oh, the dew that falls into the gutter Is not more unhappy than I!
TO THE LADY IN THE CHEMISETTE WITH BLACK
I KNOW not who thou art, oh lovely one! Thine eyes were droop'd, thy lips half sorrowful- Yet thou didst eloquently smile on me
While handing up thy sixpence through the hole Of that o'er-freighted omnibus ! Ah me!
The world is full of meetings such as this- A thrill, a voiceless challenge and reply- And sudden partings after! We may pass, And know not of each other's nearness now- Thou in the Knickerbocker Line, and I, Lone, in the Waverley! Oh, life of pain! And even should I pass where thou dost dwell- Nay-see thee in the basement taking tea- So cold is this inexorable world,
I must glide on! I dare not feast mine eye! I dare not make articulate my love,
Nor o'er the iron rails that hem thee in
Venture to fling to thee my innocent card- Not knowing thy papa!
Is thy progenitor alive, fair girl?
And what doth he for lucre? Lo again! A shadow o'er the face of this fair dream! For thou mayst be as beautiful as Love Can make thee, and the ministering hands Of milliners, incapable of more,
Be lifted at thy shapeliness and air, And still 'twixt me and thee, invisibly, May rise a wall of adamant. My breath Upon my pale lip freezes as I name Manhattan's orient verge, and eke the west In its far down extremity. Thy sire May be the signer of a temperance pledge, And clad all decently may walk the earth- Nay-may be number'd with that blessed few Who never ask for discount-yet, alas!
If, homeward wending from his daily cares,
He go by Murphy's Line, thence eastward tendingOr westward from the Line of Kipp & Brown,
My vision is departed! Harshly falls
The doom upon the ear, "She's not genteel!"
And pitiless is woman who doth keep
Of "good society" the golden key!
And gentlemen are bound, as are the stars,
To stoop not after rising!
And I shall look for thee in streets where dwell
The passengers by Broadway Lines alone!
And if my dreams be true, and thou, indeed, Art only not more lovely than genteel- Then, lady of the snow-white chemisette, The heart which vent'rously cross'd o'er to thee Upon that bridge of sixpence, may remain- And, with up-town devotedness and truth, My love shall hover round thee!
THE LADY IN THE WHITE DRESS, WHOM I HELPED INTO THE OMNIBUS.
I KNOW her not! Her hand has been in mine, And the warm pressure of her taper arm Has thrill'd upon my fingers, and the hem Of her white dress has lain upon my feet, Till my hush'd pulse, by the caressing folds, Was kindled to a fever! I, to her, Am but the undistinguishable leaf Blown by upon the breeze-yet I have sat, And in the blue depths of her stainless eyes, (Close as a lover in his hour of bliss, And steadfastly as look the twin stars down Into unfathomable wells,) have gazed! And I have felt from out its gate of pearl Her warm breath on my cheek, and while she sat Dreaming away the moments, I have tried
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