Frances Sargent Osgood (1811–1850) was one of a generation of mid-19th-century lady writers that also included the tireless Lydia Maria Child. Osgood’s reputation as a conventionally sentimental moralist is offset somewhat by her competing reputation as the woman allegedly engaged in “a heavy literary courtship” in the 1840s with Edgar Allan Poe.

Osgood, whose husband had gone to California to pan for gold, and Poe, whose wife suffered from tuberculosis, met in New York, at a literary salon hosted by the poet Anne Charlotte Lynch. As a figure of both distinction and pity, Poe apparently drew the attention of more than one married woman at these soirées. But it was Osgood with whom he exchanged poems, Osgood whose first collection of poems he promoted and praised. Their correspondence in letters and poems was ardent enough, apparently, to incite gossip — or could it be that lady writers of the mid-19th century simply liked a scandal and were capable of manufacturing one out of thin fabric? The dedication of a poem, a letter left suggestively on a table: These were the rumors, if nothing else, and grist sufficient for the mill. 

All this drama forms the backdrop for today’s Poem of the Day. “Calumny” seems, on the face of it, just another of the moralizing little poems young ladies of the era liked to copy out into commonplace books. That’s exactly how it feels, in fact: like an extended commonplace in three stanzas. But the poem is enacting a more sophisticated metrical drama. The central octet, in tetrameter lines, signals an increase in pace from the trimeter and dimeter of the first stanza, as a rumor might catch fire and spread. In the final stanza, which downshifts again from tetrameter to trimeter to dimeter, the flaming bolt of accusation finds its mark.

These effects, not simply amplifying the tragedy the speaker narrates, but actually generating it, set the poem apart as something more than an easy moral platitude. Its author did not have to imagine character assassination as an unpleasant abstraction, or invent a narrative about it. Of course, we might regard the pathos of the “gentle heart” with a measure of skepticism. Were the gossiping busybodies entirely wrong? Just how heavy was that “literary courtship?” But perhaps it hardly matters. Rumor can wound, after all, even when what it whispers is true. That gossip may be accurate does not make gossip virtuous. Meanwhile, on its own formal merits, the poem announces itself as something more serious, less platitudinous, than it might have been.  

Calumny 
by Frances Sargent Osgood 
 
A whisper woke the air, 
A soft, light tone, and low,     
Yet barbed 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 wandered round   
From ear to lip, from lip to ear,         
Until it reached a gentle heart 
That throbbed from all the world apart   
And that — it broke!    
 
It was the only heart it found, —   
The only heart ’t was meant to find,       
When first its accents woke.   
It reached that gentle heart at last,     
And that — it broke! 

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With “Poem of the Day,” The New York Sun offers a daily portion of verse selected by Joseph Bottum with the help of the North Carolina poet Sally Thomas, the Sun’s associate poetry editor. Tied to the day, or the season, or just individual taste, the poems will be typically drawn from the lesser-known portion of the history of English verse. In the coming months we will be reaching out to contemporary poets for examples of current, primarily formalist work, to show that poetry can still serve as a delight to the ear, an instruction to the mind, and a tonic for the soul.