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TO A SLANDERED POETESS. |
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 | Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood |  |
TO A SLANDERED POETESS.
My brilliant Blue Belle! droop no more;
But let them mock, and mow, and mutter!
I marvel, though a whirlwind roar,
Your eagle soul should deign to flutter!
But let them mock, and mow, and mutter!
I marvel, though a whirlwind roar,
Your eagle soul should deign to flutter!
So low the pigmies aim'd the dart,
(Ah, yes! your looks of scorn reveal it,)
You must have stoop'd your haughty heart,
O wilful, wayward child!—to feel it.
(Ah, yes! your looks of scorn reveal it,)
You must have stoop'd your haughty heart,
O wilful, wayward child!—to feel it.
173
My dark-eyed darling! don't you know,
If you were homely, cold, and stupid,
Unbent for you were Slander's bow?
Her shafts but follow those of Cupid.
If you were homely, cold, and stupid,
Unbent for you were Slander's bow?
Her shafts but follow those of Cupid.
'Tis but the penalty you pay
For wit so rare and grace so peerless;
So let the snarlers say their say,
And smile to hear them, free and fearless.
For wit so rare and grace so peerless;
So let the snarlers say their say,
And smile to hear them, free and fearless.
Nay! hear them not! Oh, you should listen
To spheral tunes! the angels love you!
The stars with kindred beauty glisten;—
No “evil eye” can lower above you!
To spheral tunes! the angels love you!
The stars with kindred beauty glisten;—
No “evil eye” can lower above you!
Dear child of Genius! strike the lyre,
And drown with melody delicious,
Soft answering to your touch of fire,
The envious hint—the sneer malicious.
And drown with melody delicious,
Soft answering to your touch of fire,
The envious hint—the sneer malicious.
Remember it is Music's law,
Each pure, true note, though low you sound it,
Is heard through Discord's wildest war
Of rage and madness, storming round it.
Each pure, true note, though low you sound it,
Is heard through Discord's wildest war
Of rage and madness, storming round it.
174
You smile!—Nay, raise your queenly head;
Braid up your hair, lest I upbraid it;
Be that last coward tear unshed,
Or in your dancing dimple shed it!
Braid up your hair, lest I upbraid it;
Be that last coward tear unshed,
Or in your dancing dimple shed it!
Serenely go your glorious way,
Secure that every footstep onward
Will lead you from their haunts away,
Since you go up, and they go—downward.
Secure that every footstep onward
Will lead you from their haunts away,
Since you go up, and they go—downward.
Yet from your love-lit, heavenly flight,
Some pity dole to those who blame you;
You only can forgive them quite,
You only smile while they defame you.
Some pity dole to those who blame you;
You only can forgive them quite,
You only smile while they defame you.
Oh! think how poor in all the wealth
That makes your frame a fairy palace—
The mind's pure light,—the heart's sweet health,—
Are they whose dearest joy is malice.
That makes your frame a fairy palace—
The mind's pure light,—the heart's sweet health,—
Are they whose dearest joy is malice.
| Poems by Frances Sargent Osgood | |