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 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
106
CALUMNY.
A whisper woke the air,
A soft, light tone, and low,
Yet barb'd with shame and woe.
Ah! might it only perish there,
Nor farther go!
A soft, light tone, and low,
Yet barb'd with shame and woe.
Ah! might it only perish there,
Nor farther go!
But no! a quick and eager ear
Caught up the little, meaning sound;
Another voice has breathed it clear;
And so it wander'd round
From ear to lip, from lip to ear,
Until it reached a gentle heart
That throbb'd from all the world apart,
And that—it broke!
Caught up the little, meaning sound;
Another voice has breathed it clear;
And so it wander'd round
From ear to lip, from lip to ear,
Until it reached a gentle heart
That throbb'd from all the world apart,
And that—it broke!
It was the only heart it found—
The only heart 'twas meant to find,
When first its accents woke.
It reach'd that gentle heart at last,
And that—it broke!
The only heart 'twas meant to find,
When first its accents woke.
It reach'd that gentle heart at last,
And that—it broke!
107
Low as it seem'd to other ears,
It came a thunder-crash to hers—
That fragile girl, so fair and gay.
'Tis said, a lovely humming-bird,
That dreaming in a lily lay,
Was kill'd but by the gun's report
Some idle boy had fired in sport;
So exquisitely frail its frame,
The very sound a death-blow came:
And thus her heart—unused to shame—
Shrined in its lily too—
(For who the maid that knew,
But own'd the delicate, flower-like grace
Of her young form and face?)
Her light and happy heart, that beat
With love and hope so fast and sweet,
When first that cruel word it heard,
It flutter'd like a frighten'd bird—
Then shut its wings and sigh'd,
And with a silent shudder died!
It came a thunder-crash to hers—
That fragile girl, so fair and gay.
'Tis said, a lovely humming-bird,
That dreaming in a lily lay,
Was kill'd but by the gun's report
Some idle boy had fired in sport;
So exquisitely frail its frame,
The very sound a death-blow came:
And thus her heart—unused to shame—
Shrined in its lily too—
(For who the maid that knew,
But own'd the delicate, flower-like grace
Of her young form and face?)
Her light and happy heart, that beat
With love and hope so fast and sweet,
When first that cruel word it heard,
It flutter'd like a frighten'd bird—
Then shut its wings and sigh'd,
And with a silent shudder died!
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |