 | The Poems of John Rollin Ridge -- A reproduction of the 1868
publication plus fugitive poems and notes. |  |
ERINNA*
IMAGINATION! rouse thee from repose,
And to our eyes Erinna lost disclose;
Since from the living voice of Time is gone
Her genius-gifted and melodious tone,
And from his starlit page the words are fled
She from her early lyre in wonder shed!
Arouse thee I fling around her fancied form
A glorious hue--- beauty rich and warm.
'Tis done: alone by Lesbos' wave-washed strand
I see her in the pride of beauty stand,
Far gazing where the Aegena waters smile
Around her native home and classic isle.
Soft blow the breezes on her snowy brow,
And stir the folds around her limbs that flow;
Her golden hair's luxuriance on her neck
Falls unregarded down--it needs no check,
For who would comb the plumage of the bird,
Or smooth the dimpling waves by Zephyrs stirred?
Her small white hands are linked beneath her zone,
And 'tween her sweetly rounded arms are shown
Twin spheres of love and Pleasure's burning throne!
A glow is on her cheeks and fresh her lips
As evening cloud the sun's vermilion tips;
Her clear, bright eye wild wanders o'er the main,
That rolling its blue waves along, a strain
Eternal utters and sublime, to charm
The fair, green isles that o'er its bosom swarm.
And to our eyes Erinna lost disclose;
Since from the living voice of Time is gone
Her genius-gifted and melodious tone,
And from his starlit page the words are fled
She from her early lyre in wonder shed!
Arouse thee I fling around her fancied form
A glorious hue--- beauty rich and warm.
'Tis done: alone by Lesbos' wave-washed strand
I see her in the pride of beauty stand,
Far gazing where the Aegena waters smile
Around her native home and classic isle.
Soft blow the breezes on her snowy brow,
And stir the folds around her limbs that flow;
Her golden hair's luxuriance on her neck
Falls unregarded down--it needs no check,
For who would comb the plumage of the bird,
Or smooth the dimpling waves by Zephyrs stirred?
Her small white hands are linked beneath her zone,
And 'tween her sweetly rounded arms are shown
Twin spheres of love and Pleasure's burning throne!
A glow is on her cheeks and fresh her lips
As evening cloud the sun's vermilion tips;
Her clear, bright eye wild wanders o'er the main,
That rolling its blue waves along, a strain
Eternal utters and sublime, to charm
The fair, green isles that o'er its bosom swarm.
Ah, beautiful indeed! What magic gives
The grace that in her every movement lives?
What power unseen is breathing o'er her face,
Where every lineament divine we trace?
It is the magic Sorcerer never stole
From science dread--the magic of the soul I
It is the power of Genius, Heaven conferred,
Which, though it be unseen and all unheard,
Imparts its own true beauty to the face,
And lends unto the form its bloom and grace.
The grace that in her every movement lives?
What power unseen is breathing o'er her face,
Where every lineament divine we trace?
It is the magic Sorcerer never stole
From science dread--the magic of the soul I
It is the power of Genius, Heaven conferred,
Which, though it be unseen and all unheard,
Imparts its own true beauty to the face,
And lends unto the form its bloom and grace.
Erinna, mid the objects Time has cast
His hand upon, thou standest within the past
In lonely and peculiar loveliness.
The child of song, with nature's own impress
Upon thee, yet thy harp is hushed, and no
Sweet strains of thine through distant times shall flow
Thy voice hath perished sweetly though it sung,
And perished those who on its accents hung.
His hand upon, thou standest within the past
In lonely and peculiar loveliness.
The child of song, with nature's own impress
Upon thee, yet thy harp is hushed, and no
Sweet strains of thine through distant times shall flow
Thy voice hath perished sweetly though it sung,
And perished those who on its accents hung.
Thou wert a bird that breathed its soul away
In song, and died-- but Echo lost the lay;
Thou wert a star which shone a single night,
But, setting once, returned no more its light.
Thou art a glorious image of the mind
Seen through the depths of ages Far behind,
Round which our Fancy flings her brightest beams,
While ancient Story faintly aids her dreams.
In song, and died-- but Echo lost the lay;
Thou wert a star which shone a single night,
But, setting once, returned no more its light.
Thou art a glorious image of the mind
Seen through the depths of ages Far behind,
Round which our Fancy flings her brightest beams,
While ancient Story faintly aids her dreams.
The friend of Sappho! linked together be
Those names, and never wrecked on Time's wide sea;
And when we read the passion--wildering strain
Of Sappho's muse, that charms the listening brain,
We'll feel Erinna's voice our hearts inspire,
And deem her lovely hand is on the lyre!
Those names, and never wrecked on Time's wide sea;
And when we read the passion--wildering strain
Of Sappho's muse, that charms the listening brain,
We'll feel Erinna's voice our hearts inspire,
And deem her lovely hand is on the lyre!
[*]
Erinna, a native of Lesbos and friend of Sappho, died at the early age of nineteen. She is described as a girl of extraordinary beauty and genius, but her works, all except two or three epigrams, have unfortunately perished. (Poets and Poetry of the Ancients. By Wm. Peter, A..M.) [original note]
| The Poems of John Rollin Ridge -- A reproduction of the 1868
publication plus fugitive poems and notes. | |