Poems (Osgood)/To Sybil

by Frances Sargent Osgood

 

TO SYBIL.

"Sooth her in sorrow and brighten her smile;
Chide her most gently if folly beguile;
One so unsullied and trustful of heart,
From the good shepherd will never depart.

"Now she adores thee as one without spot,
Dreams not of sorrow to darken her lot.
Joyful, yet tearful, I yield her to thee;
Take her, the light of thy dwelling to be."

Yes! go to him—thy young heart full
 Of passionate romance,
And be the fiat of thy fate
 His lordly word and glance!

Be thy soul's day, his careless smile;
 His frown, its clouded night;
His voice, the music of thy life;
 His love, thy one delight!

Sit at his feet, and raise to his
 Those large, pure, dreaming eyes,
And tell him all thy lovely thoughts
 As radiantly they rise.

Press to his hand that childish cheek,
 And stroke his stern dark face,
And charm him with thy ways so meek,
 Thy glad, aerial grace!

Look for his coming with clasp'd hands
 And hush'd and listening heart,
And strive to hide thy joyous tears
 With woman's bashful art.

And in thy low Eolian tones,
 Melodiously wild,
Falter thy fond, sweet welcome out,
 Oh, rare, enchanting child!

Then if he coldly turn away,
 In silence to him steal,
And touch his soul with one long gaze
 Of passionate appeal.

I know them all—th' endearing wiles—
 The sweet, unconscious art—
The graceful spells that nature taught
 Her darling's docile heart.

I know them all—I've seen thee lift,
 At some unkindly tone,
Those dark, upbraiding eyes of thine,
 Where sorrowing wonder shone,

And sudden tears would dim the glance,
 And then—the wrong forgiven—
A smile would steal up in the cloud,
 Like starlight into heaven.

Go—try them all—those girlish wiles!
 He cannot choose but love,
He cannot choose but guard from ill
 His little, nestling dove!

For rare, my Sybil, 'tis to see
 Thy iris-mind unfold;
The magic of th maiden glee,
 That turns all gloom to gold;—

Th' aurora blush that on thy cheek
 Thy heart's love-story tells;
The wondrous world within thine eyes
 Lit up like the gazelle's.

But if thou think'st, dear dreaming child!
 That he will watch as now,
In after years, each smile and shade
 That cross thy changing brow;

And modulate his tone to meet
 The pleading of thy soul,
And feel in all his wanderings,
 Thy gentle breast his goal;

And daily feed thy mind and heart
 With hallow'd love and lore,
Nor turn from those imploring eyes,
 That wistful look for more;

And watch thee where—as borne in air—
 Thou float'st the dance along,
And deem thy form alone is fair,
 Of all the fairy throng;

In transport look and listen when
 Thy light caressing hands
Lure forth the harp's harmonious soul,
 From all its silver bands;

Indulgent stoop his falcon-will
 To let it fly with thine,
And smile in manly pride to see
 His pet's soft plumage shine;

And yield to every gay caprice,
 And grieve for every sigh,
And grant all airy hopes that play
 On pleading lip or eye;

If this thy dream, enthusiast, be,
 I can but idly pray,
Heaven shield thee in thy waking hour,
 And keep it long away!