Classic and Contemporary Poetry
RIBBLEDIN; OR THE CHRISTENING, by EBENEZER ELLIOTT Poet's Biography First Line: No name hast thou! Lone streamlet Last Line: The wildness of thy tresses. Alternate Author Name(s): Corn-law Rhymer; Elliot, Ebenezer Subject(s): Brooks; Names; Streams; Creeks | ||||||||
No name hast thou! lone streamlet That lovest Rivilin. Here, if a bard may christen thee, I'll call thee "Ribbledin;" Here, where first murmuring from thine urn, Thy voice deep joy expresses; And down the rock, like music, flows The wildness of thy tresses. Here, while beneath the umbrage Of Nature's forest bower, Bridged o'er by many a fallen birch, And watch'd by many a flower, To meet thy cloud-descended love, All trembling, thou retirest -- Here will I murmur to thy waves The sad joy thou inspirest. Dim world of weeping mosses! A hundred year ago, Yon hoary-headed holly tree Beheld thy streamlet flow: See how he bends him down to hear The tune that ceases never! Old as the rocks, wild stream, he seems, While thou art young for ever. Wildest and lonest streamlet! Gray oaks, all lichen'd o'er! Rush-bristled isles! ye ivied trunks That marry shore to shore! And thou, gnarl'd dwarf of centuries, Whose snaked roots twist above me! Oh for the tongue or pen of Burns, To tell you how I love ye! Would that I were a river, To wonder all alone Through some sweet Eden of the wild, In music of my own; And bathed in bliss, and fed with dew, Distill'd o'er mountains hoary, Return unto my home in heaven On wings of joy and glory! Or that I were the lichen, That, in this roofless cave, (The dim geranium's lone boudoir,) Dwells near the shadow'd wave, And hears the breeze-bow'd tree-top's sigh, While tears below are flowing, For all the sad and lovely things, That to the grave are going? Oh that I were a primrose, To bask in sunny air! Far, far from all the plagues that make Town-dwelling men despair! Then would I watch the building-birds, Where light and shade are moving, And lovers' whisper, and love's kiss, Rewards the loved and loving! Or that I were a skylark To soar and sing above, Filling all hearts with joyful sounds, And my own soul with love! Then o'er the mourner and the dead, And o'er the good man dying, My song should come like buds and flowers, When music warbles flying. Oh, that a wing of splendour, Like yon wild cloud, were mine! Yon bounteous cloud, that gets to give, And borrows to reign! On that bright wing, to climes of spring I'd bear all wintry bosoms, And bid hope smile on weeping thoughts, Like April on her blossoms; Or like the rainbow, laughing O'er Rivilin and Don, When misty morning calleth up Her mountains, one by one, While glistening down the golden broom, The gem-like dew-drop raineth, And round the little rocky isles The little wave complaineth. Oh, that the truth of beauty Were married to my rhyme! That it might wear a mountain charm Until the death of Time! Then, Ribbledin! would all the best Of sorrow's sons and daughters See truth reflected in my song, Like beauty on thy waters. No longer, nameless streamlet, That marriest Rivilin! Henceforth, lone Nature's devotees Would call thee "Ribbledin," Whenever, listening where thy voice Its first wild joy expresses, And down the rocks all wildly flows The wildness of thy tresses. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOWN THE BROOK by ROBERT FROST A CLEARING BY A STREAM by ALICIA SUSKIN OSTRIKER STREAM by ALICIA SUSKIN OSTRIKER THE ASPEN AND THE STREAM by RICHARD WILBUR WEST RUNNING BROOK by ROBERT FROST BIRCH STREAM by ANNA BOYNTON AVERILL THE VALLEY BROOK by JOHN HOWARD BRYANT A POET'S EPITAPH by EBENEZER ELLIOTT |
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