Poetry of and about Niagara Falls & the Niagara River – the waterfalls, the city, the history, the stunters, and everything else Niagara
Author: Andrew Porteus
Andrew Porteus is a retired librarian who started the Niagara Falls Poetry Project in 1998 in order to gather in one place the hundreds of poems that exist about Niagara Falls. Andrew returned to Brock University to get a Master of Art degree based on the website
I have a plugin on the website to give various statistics about usage. I’ve noticed a couple of things this last week. When I look at the countries that people are visiting from, Ukraine, Russia, & Khazakhstan are in the top 10. There are usually just a handful of vistors that are not from Canada, the United States, or the United Kingdom.
Similarly, there are stats for the top referrers, usually topped by Google. This past week, however, the top referrer by far has been from McMaster University, although I can’t see from which department as you need login information to get any further in to their site. I know that sometimes my site is used in courses. I know, for example, that Niagara University has a course on Niagara Literature that uses the website, and also that the stats generally spike in September-October and again in January-February, coinciding with the beginning of academic terms.
Stats also spike when an individual who has a poem on the site is in the news. When Priscila Uppal, a well known poet and novelist died, I had about 1,200 hits on her poem Niagara Mermaids on the day her death was announced, and they stayed high for a few days afterwards.
So if you’re dropping in from McMaster or anywhere else, I’d love to hear how you are using the site. You can drop a note in the comments, or email at aporteus@niagarapoetry.ca.
John Newmark lives in St. Louis, Missouri with his wife and two children. An avid family historian, his 5th great grandfather, McGregory Vanevery, was one of the original settlers of Niagara, Ontario. He enjoys writing poetry about his ancestors, and the places they lived. Visit his website.
I stood on Queenston Heights ;
And as I gazed from tomb to cenotaph,
From cenotaph to tomb, adown and up,
My heart grew full, much moved with many thoughts.
At length I cried :
” O robed with honor and with glory crowned.
Tell me again the story of yon pile. ”
And straight the ancient, shuddering cedars wept,
The solemn junipers indued their pall,
The moaning wind crept through the trembling oaks
And, shrieking, fled. Strange clamor filled the air ;
The steepy hill shook with the rush of arms ;
Around me rolled the tide of sudden war.
The booming guns pealed forth their dreadful knell ;
Musketry rattled ; shouts, cries, groans, were heard ;
Men met as foes, and deadly strife ensued.
From side to side the surging combat rolled,
And as it rolled, passed from my ken.
But hark ! a ringing cheer peals up the height,
Once more the battle’s tide bursts on my view.
Brock to the rescue ! Down goes the alien flag !
Back, back the dark battalions fall. On, on
The ” Tigers ” come. Down pours the rattling shot
From out the verdant grove, like sheets of hail.
Up, up they press, York volunteers and all.
Aha! the day is ours ! See, where the hero comes
In conquering might, quick driving all before him !
O brave ensample ! O beloved chief !
Who follows thee keeps ever pace with honor.
Such tale the hill-side told me, and I wept.
Nay ! I wept not ! The hot, indignant thoughts
That filled my breast burned up the welling tears
Ere they had chance to flow, and forward Hate
Spake rashly. But calm reflection
Laid her cool hand upon my throbbing brow
And whispered, ” As up the misty stream
The Norseman crept to-day, and signals white
Waved kind salutes from yon opposing shore ;
And as ye peered the dusky vista through.
To catch first glimpse of yonder glorious plinth,
Yet saw it not till I your glance directed,—
So high it towered above the common plane ;—
So towering over Time, shall Brock e’er stand.—
So, from those banks, shall white-robed Peace e’er smile.”
Source: George W. Ross (ed.) Patriotic Recitations and Arbor Day Exercises. Toronto: Warwick Bros. & Rutter, 1893
Upon the “table-rock” I stand,
And gaze into the depths profound,
In ecstacy at sights so grand,
And deafened by the sound
Of rushing waters, as they leap
Like maddened steeds, down hillside steep.
The falling spray my head bedews,
As gently as a vernal shower;
Or, as the Holy Ghost imbues
In consecrated hour,
The soul that inly yearns for love,
And seeks it from the throne above.
But I see more than chasm deep,
Than falling spray and rushing tide.
Sublime, indeed, the awful leap;
The awe will long abide—
God’s rainbow hangs in colors bright,
A thing of beauty in my sight.
Our cousins on the other side
And we too often disagree;
Puffed up, I fear, at times, with pride,
Each strong, and brave, and free;
But we forget the stormy past,
Our lands and hearts are linked at last.
The “Union-Jack” hangs o’er my head,
The “Stars and Stripes” my cousin rears,
But old-time grievances are dead
For all the coming years;
As separate flags they still may wave,
But we are one the world to save.
Source: Joseph Horatio Chant. Gleams of Sunshine: Optimistic Poems. Toronto: William Briggs, 1915.
Laura Secord stamp issued by Canada Post, September 8, 1992
On the sacred scroll of glory
Let us blazon forth the story
Of a brave Canadian woman, with the fervid pen of fame,
So that all the world may read it,
So that every heart may heed it,
And rehearse it through the ages to the honor of her name.
In the far-off days of battle,
When the muskets’ rapid rattle
Far re-echoed through the forest, Laura Secord sped along
Deep into the woodland mazy,
Over pathways wild and hazy,
With a firm and fearless footstep and a courage staunch and strong.
She had heard the host preparing,
And at once with dauntless daring
Hurried off to give the warning of the fast-advancing foe ;
And she flitted like a shadow
Far away o’er fen and meadow,
Where the wolf was in the wildwood, and the lynx was lying low.
From within the wild recesses
Of the tangled wildernesses
Sounds mysterious pursued her ‘long the winding forest way,
And she heard the gutt’ral growling
Of the bears, that, near her prowling,
Crushed their course through coverts gloomy with their cubs in noisy play.
Far and near the hideous whooping
Of the painted Indians, trooping
For the foray, pealed upon her with a weird, unearthly sound,
While great snakes went gliding past her
As she sped on fast and faster,
And disaster on disaster seemed to threaten all around.
Thus for twenty miles she travelled
Over pathways rough and ravelled,
Braving danger for her country like the fabled ones of yore.
Till she reached her destination,
And forewarned the threatened station
Of the wave that was advancing to engulf it deep in gore.
Just in time the welcome warning
Came unto the men, that, scorning
To retire before the foemen, rallied ready for the fray,
And they gave such gallant greeting,
That the foe was soon retreating
Back in wild dismay and terror on that glorious battle-day.
Few returned to tell the story
Of the conflict sharp and gory
That was won with brilliant glory by that brave Canadian band,
For the host of prisoners captured
Far outnumbered the enraptured
Little group of gallant soldiers fighting for their native land.
Braver acts are not recorded
In historic treasures hoarded,
Than the march of Laura Secord through the forest long ago,
And no nobler deed of daring
Than the cool and crafty snaring
By the band at Beaver Dam of all that well-appointed foe.
But we know if war should ever
Rage again o’er field or river,
And the hordes of the invader should appear within our land,
Far and wide the trumpets pealing
Would awake the same old feeling,
And again would deeds of daring sparkle out on every hand.
Source: Charles Edwin Jakeway. The Lion and the Lilies: A Tale of the Conquest and Other Poems. Toronto: William Briggs, 1897
