To Eliza Lynn, on Her Amymone

High names, immortal names, have women borne;
In every land her amaranthine crown
Virtue hath placed upon the braided brow;
In many, courage hath sprung up and shamed
The stronger man's unbrave audacity;
In many, nay in all, hath Wisdom toucht
The fairer front benignly, and hath kist
Those lids her lessons kept from their repose.
Only for Hellas had the Muses dwelt
In the deep shadow of the gentler breast,
To soothe its passion or repeat its tale.
They lived not but in Hellas. There arose
Erinna, there Corinna, there (to quench
The torch of poesy, of love, of life,
In the dim water) Sappho. Far above
All these, in thought and fancy, she whose page
The world's last despot seiz'd and trampled on,
Casting her forth where Summer's gladden'd sun
Shone o'er the nightless laurel from the Pole.
Before her advent, England's maidens heard
The Simple Story: other voices since
Have made their softness sound thro' manly tones
And overpower them. In our days, so sweet,
So potent, so diversified, is none
As thine, Protectress of Aspasia's fame,
Thine, golden shield of matchless Pericles,
Pure heart and lofty soul, Eliza Lynn!