She, too, my youthful love returned, Each breast with throb responsive yearned, The oracles of passion sweet, All augured happiness complete. But, ere the nuptial knot was bound, A whispered rumor crept around, A whispered rumor, such as rise From nothing to colossal size; Though none their origin can trace, Nor ferret out the starting place, Which start sometimes, in idle jest, When knowing looks imply the rest. The lightest rumor, or the worst, May be discredited at first, But oft repeated and received Is soon unconsciously believed. Though inconsistent and abstract, Fanned by insinuating tongues, Imaginary faults and wrongs Soon gain the currency of fact. The purest acts are misconstrued By the lascivious and lewd, And envy loves to lie in wait With fangs imbrued in venomed hate. This slander, born of jealousy, Was told as solemn truth to me, By tongues I deemed immaculate. Alas! that shafts from falsehood's bow Should undetected cleave the air, Or wanton hands in malice sow The tares of discord and despair. For every seed of falsehood sown Brings forth a harvest of its own, And ears, most ready to believe, Are difficult to undeceive. Alas! that shafts from falsehood's tongue Should fall suspicious ears among, And be received, and nursed, forsooth, As arrows of unblemished truth: Maligning spotless innocence, With grave impeachments of offence. Their crime, of heinous crimes the worst, With multiplied damnation cursed, Who, lost to every sense of shame, Assassinate a woman's name. For such, with trumped-up calumnies, Would drag an angel from the skies, And stain its vestal robes of white With slander's sable hues of night, Holding to ridicule and shame The ruins of a once fair name. Who so, from slander's chalice sips, May greet you with a friendly kiss, Nor may the foul, envenomed lips Betray the adder's sting and hiss. The fairest flowrets of the field The rankest poisons often yield, And falsehood loves to hide her tooth 'Neath the habiliments of truth. This scandal, venomous and vile, Had no foundation but a smile, But on it wagging tongues had built A massive pyramid of guilt. In evil hour, I, too, believed For fabrications more absurd Than the aspersions I had heard Have wiser ears than mine deceived. I fought suspicion, vainly tried To cast each rising doubt aside. But he who lists to tales of ill Believes in part, despite his will. Then in my face, as in a book, She read one sad distrustful look, A look of pity, yet of doubt, For silence cries most loudly out, And who can smile with visage bright To shield misgivings black as night?