Untitled by Anonymous

As on the stormy beach I strayed,
‡‡Where frowning rocks prevailed,
O! thus my own, my dearest maid,
‡‡My hard, hard fate bewailed: —
“O! Harry, dear, you’ll break your neck —
‡‡Upon my soul you will;
And if you do, you precious fool,
‡‡I’ll lick you — so I will!”

Source: Table Rock Album and Sketches of the Falls and Scenery Adjacent. Buffalo: Steam Press of Thomas and Lathrops, copyright by Jewett, Thomas & Co.,1856c.1848

This link takes you to the scanned version of  the 1855 version of Table Rock Album from the Hathi Trust

See the Table of Contents of the Table Rock Album on this site.

Lines On Reading That the Only Words Spoken…. by Anonymous

lines

On reading that the only words spoken by the young lady recently killed at the Falls, after the accident, were — “Let me” —

lines
The Bride of Death; by Thomas Jones Barker Victoria Art Gallery

“Let me,” and here the fast receding breath
‡‡Denied the power of utterance — the throb
Of that young heart grew faint.    Ah, reckless Death,
‡‡How didst thou then of hope surviving bosoms rob!

What was the wish thus less than half expressed,
‡‡That latest image of the aching brain,
Imprisoned in the fair young sufferer’s breast,
‡‡Without the strength to burst the feeble chain.

Was it a prayer that she might longer live,
‡‡Addressed to Him who holds the scroll of fate?
Or did she wish a parting thought to give
‡‡In trust to those that watching, round her wait?

Some fond remembrance of her distant home,
‡‡Where late perhaps maternal love had shed
Its hallowed flame, — and when resolved to roam
‡‡Had breathed a farewell blessing on her head.

Ah, who so fitting now to claim her thoughts,
‡‡As she whose hand sustained her helpless years?
Oh, that the action of that hand, were brought,
‡‡To wipe, with tender care, those dying tears.

See, in this theatre of nature’s might,
‡‡In boundless strength the dashing waters rush,
With headlong fury o’er the dizzy height,
‡‡And threaten e’en the solid rock to crush.

But mark the contrast!   On that bed of pain
‡‡The form reclines of nature’s noblest art,
Whose strongest energy is spent in vain,
‡‡To breathe the last conception of her heart.

Great Ruler of the destinies of Man!
‡‡Teach us to reverence thy dark decree;
Forgive the daring murmur at thy plan,
‡‡And make us yield and humbly trust to thee.

The last words of the dying girl may be
‡‡The first to form the Christian’s hopeful prayer;
Trusting her happy spirit is with thee;
‡‡He cries, “O Father ‘Let me’ join her there.”

Source: Table Rock Album and Sketches of the Falls and Scenery Adjacent.Buffalo: Steam Press of Thomas and Lathrops, copyright by Jewett, Thomas & Co.,1856c.1848

The Niagara Scow by Amanda Tulk

scow

scow
Scow Rescue in Niagara River – Gustav F Lofberg being pulled to safety by breeches buoy. Courtesy Niagara Falls Public Library. August 7, 1918

Now it sits a pile of unstable rust
Amongst the falls
And their murderous rush
Two men on a routine trip
A few hours later Red Hill screaming
Dont lose your grip
A split second decision
Could have ended their lives
Lucky to make it home to their wives
One man risked it all
He figured as long as he tried
There was no fault
The unstable scow
Hung by a tree
Attached by a weak buckle
Inching the rope to answer the mens pleas
With each breath taking stride
Praying not to end it all
With a wavy ride
One man hooked and back on shore
Clipped to the rope
He goes back for one more
To this day
The scow sits, where waves strive
Two men, forever grateful
To be able to enjoy their lives


Listen to The Niagara Scow by Amanda Tulk, read by Oliver Porteus

Source: Tulk, Amanda.  Can You Hear It? : Poetry by Amanda Tulk.  Niagara Falls, Ont. : Grey Borders Books, 2013

Click here to see a newspaper article about the scow rescue

scow
This is one of the poems included on the Poetry Walking Tour of Niagara Falls. Click to go to the walking tour

CANAL CAMP BALLADS No. 1: The Great Saint’s Medal By Jimmie Loftus

loftus canal 1
Welland Canal – Davis Culvert Construction, 1927. Photo courtesy of Niagara Falls Public Library
(With apologies to Kipling’s “Ballad of Fultah Fisher’s Boarding House”)

As I sat upon the doorstep
        Of Bunkhouse Number Two
Big Jim, the One lounged down ‘longside
        And cut him off a chew.
This is the story he told me,
        As I tell it to you.
 
“Twas tougher then than now, me boy,”
        Along this old canal;
But the Spirit of the Big Ditch
        Held young and old in thrall.
The men often whined, “We Cannot,”
        But the Spirit said, “Ye Shall.”
 
When they huddled in the shanties
        After a twelve hour day
On the reeking piles of gumbo
        (That cursed sticky clay).
They were nigh onto exhaustion,
        Dyin’ to hit the hay.
 
But they’d sit around like we are,
        And smoke a pipe or two,
And swap the most amazing yarns
        Or curse the heavens blue.
They was a mongrel, jumbled lot
        That Old Canal Crew.
 
There was Charlie Loo, the Chinee cook,
        “The Senor” from Tampico,
The Greek which we called Louie,
        Tall Hans from old Saro,
A guy from far-off Hebrides,
        “Slow Sam” from Idaho.
 
There was Jake Tike, the scar-faced Red,
        And his ugly leering sneer,
He was always stirring trouble
        When the big Boss wasn’t near.
And there was Mike, the Irish lad,
        With eyes still bright and clear.
 
Michael was fresh from County Clare,
        New to the life of the camps,
New to the hard-boiled ways of men,
        New to the wiles of scamps.
He gave credit to everyone—
        Even that gang o’ tramps. Continue reading “CANAL CAMP BALLADS No. 1: The Great Saint’s Medal By Jimmie Loftus”

Martyrs of Progress by Clarence Arthur Dowling Thompson

thompson martyrs
Welland Canal Fallen Workers Memorial With the Names 0f 137 Who Died Building the Canals

To the Workers Who Met Death On Canal Construction

It was inspiring, grand, impressive !
An event for the great to behold,
When thousands on thousands witnessed
The leviathan entrance unfold !

Long are the approach of the hour,
From areas distant and near,
Came eager, expectant people,
To gaze from the bank, tier on tier.

The foremost voice of our country,
Through receptive air channels hurled,
Cried forth the great shipway’s importance
To an audience girdling the world.

About what were some of us thinking―
We who stood on the grassy banks―
As scintillant invocations
Inspired the close-serried ranks?

We were loved ones, friends and companions
Of men crashed, or hurled, to their doom.
By the sudden snap of a tackle . . .
Collapse of a defective boom—

We stood on the sward and remembered . . .
Yes, we heard suave sentences flow.
But we knew—despite the orations—
To whom highest tribute should go.

There were those of the people present . . .
Remembering . . . stifled a sob
For the hundred and more of workers
Who went to their death “on the job.”

Originally published in The St. Catharines Standard, Monday August 8, 1932, p4.; published just after the new canal was opened.
Source: Dennis Gannon, 2017