Page:Felicia Hemans in The Amulet 1829.pdf/6

Thou hast a voice, whose thrilling tone
    Can bid each life-pulse beat,
As when a trumpet's note hath blown,
    Calling the brave to meet:
But mime, let mine—a woman's breast,
By words of home-born love be bless'd.

A hollow sound is in thy song,
    A mockery in thine eye,
To the sick heart that doth but long
    For aid, for sympathy;
For kindly looks to cheer it on,
For tender accents that are gone.

Fame, Fame! thou canst not be the stay
    Unto the drooping reed,
The cool fresh fountain, in the day
    Of the soul's feverish need;
Where must the lone one turn or flee?—
Not unto thee, oh! not to thee!