Poems (Hale)/Fame

by Mary Whitwell Hale

For works with similar titles, see Fame.

FAME.

    "For the most loved are they,
Of whom Fame speaks not, with her clarion voice,
In regal halls."Mrs. Hemans.

It is not with Fame's "clarion voice,"
 Within the palace hall,
That we would wish the cherished name
 Upon the ear to fall.
Her thrilling notes!—would love desire
 That strain their worth to tell,
Whose names, like some sweet treasured dream.
 Deep in our memory dwell?

We would not that the minstrel's hand
 The laurel wreath should twine:
Purer and dearer gifts we bring
 To grace affection's shrine:
For they, the tender and the true,
 The loved of other days,
Claim from the hearts their friendship blest,
 A sweeter meed of praise.

The cherished hope, the fervent prayer,
 While here their footsteps tread,
And when life's varied strain is hushed,
 The silent tear we shed.
Rich meed! Yet o'er the loved and blest,
 Whose work on earth is done,
No tear of hopeless grief we shed,—
 Their heavenly crown is won.

Bright, glorious, is the gift of Fame;
 Yet holier, more divine,
Is e'en the faintest sigh, in which
 Their memory we enshrine.
Minstrel! it is for thee to pour
 The trumpet note of praise;
But love the cherished name shall tell,
 In gentler, purer lays.