| |
| 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, | 5 |
| 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, | 10 |
| Bridged o’er by many a fallen birch, | |
| And watched by many a flower, | |
| To meet thy cloud-descended love, | |
| All trembling, thou retirest,— | |
| Here will I murmur to thy waves | 15 |
| The sad joy thou inspirest. | |
| |
| Dim world of weeping mosses! | |
| A hundred years ago, | |
| Yon hoary-headed holly-tree | |
| Beheld thy streamlet flow: | 20 |
| 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 forever. | |
| |
| Wildest and lonest streamlet! | 25 |
| Gray oaks, all lichened o’er! | |
| Rush-bristled isles! ye ivied trunks | |
| That marry shore to shore! | |
| And thou, gnarled dwarf of centuries, | |
| Whose snaked roots twist above me! | 30 |
| O for the tongue or pen of Burns | |
| To tell you how I love ye! | |
| |
| Would that I were a river, | |
| To wander all alone | |
| Through some sweet Eden of the wild, | 35 |
| In music of my own; | |
| And bathed in bliss, and fed with dew, | |
| Distilled o’er mountains hoary, | |
| Return unto my home in heaven | |
| On wings of joy and glory! | 40 |
| |
| Or that I were the lichen | |
| That in this roofless cave | |
| (The dim geranium’s lone boudoir) | |
| Dwells near the shadowed wave, | |
| And hears the breeze-bowed tree-top’s sigh, | 45 |
| While tears below are flowing, | |
| For all the sad and lovely things | |
| That to the grave are going! | |
| |
| O that I were a primrose, | |
| To bask in sunny air! | 50 |
| 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, | 55 |
| 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! | 60 |
| 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. | |
| |
| O that a wing of splendor, | 65 |
| Like yon wild cloud, were mine! | |
| Yon bounteous cloud, that gets to give, | |
| And borrows to resign! | |
| On that bright wing, to climes of spring | |
| I ’d bear all wintry bosoms, | 70 |
| 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 | 75 |
| 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. | 80 |
| |
| O 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 | 85 |
| Of Sorrow’s sons and daughters | |
| See truth reflected in my song, | |
| Like beauty on thy waters. | |
| |
| No longer nameless streamlet, | |
| That marriest Rivilin! | 90 |
| 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 | 95 |
| The wildness of thy tresses. | |
| |
