 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
112
CALUMNY.
Ah, what avails the shield of truth,
The charm of virtue, beauty, youth,
Against that fiend deformed, uncouth,
Whose wounds no lenient balm can close?
Assailed by Slander's venomed tooth,
The sensate mind must droop, forsooth,
And wither like a cankered rose.
Yes, they who ever felt the pang
Of Calumny's inveterate fang,
Must own that minstrel never sang,
Of all the woes from guilt that sprang,
Of deeper, dreader, deadlier foes.
The charm of virtue, beauty, youth,
Against that fiend deformed, uncouth,
Whose wounds no lenient balm can close?
Assailed by Slander's venomed tooth,
The sensate mind must droop, forsooth,
And wither like a cankered rose.
Yes, they who ever felt the pang
Of Calumny's inveterate fang,
Must own that minstrel never sang,
Of all the woes from guilt that sprang,
Of deeper, dreader, deadlier foes.
Oh thou, who hast been thus betrayed
By secret foes, in ambush laid,
To plot and stab beneath the shade;
Whose viewless shafts have mocked the aid
Of Virtue's buckler to evade
The cruel, pointed, venomed barb—
Know, hapless wretch! whoe'er thou be,
There is between thyself and me
A sighing chord of sympathy;
For I have also felt, like thee,
The cureless wounds of Calumny,
Who kissed and stabbed—for he—for he
Had stolen honest Friendship's garb.
By secret foes, in ambush laid,
To plot and stab beneath the shade;
Whose viewless shafts have mocked the aid
Of Virtue's buckler to evade
The cruel, pointed, venomed barb—
Know, hapless wretch! whoe'er thou be,
There is between thyself and me
A sighing chord of sympathy;
113
The cureless wounds of Calumny,
Who kissed and stabbed—for he—for he
Had stolen honest Friendship's garb.
But what, alas, avails complaint?
Be man more holy than a saint,
Be lovely woman “chaste as snow
And pure as ice,” they still must know
The keenest pang of human wo,
The rankling wound of Calumny.
But hear a Saviour's accents mild,
“The persecuted and reviled
Are blessed,” saith the Lord.
Then still, in conscious virtue clad,
“Rejoice, and be exceeding glad,
For great is your reward.”
Be man more holy than a saint,
Be lovely woman “chaste as snow
And pure as ice,” they still must know
The keenest pang of human wo,
The rankling wound of Calumny.
But hear a Saviour's accents mild,
“The persecuted and reviled
Are blessed,” saith the Lord.
Then still, in conscious virtue clad,
“Rejoice, and be exceeding glad,
For great is your reward.”
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |