The Battle of Lundy’s Lane by Duncan Campbell Scott

rufus gale

rufus gale
Battle of Lundy’s Lane by Alonzo Chappel

Rufus Gale Speaks – 1852  863

Yes, – in the Lincoln Militia, – in the war of eighteen-twelve;
Many’s the day I’ve had since then to dig and delve –
But those are the years I remember as the brightest years of all,
When we left the plow in the furrow to follow the bugle’s call.
Why, even our son Abner wanted to fight with the men!
“Don’t you go, d’ye hear, sir!” – I was angry with him then.
“Stay with your mother!” I said, and he looked so old and grim –
He was just sixteen that April – I couldn’t believe it was him;
But I didn’t think – I was off – and we met the foe again,
Five thousand strong and ready, at the hill by Lundy’s Lane.
There as the night came on we fought them from six to nine,
Whenever they broke our line we broke their line,
They took our guns and we won them again, and around the levels
Where the hill sloped up – with the Eighty-ninth, – we fought like devils
Around the flag; – and on they came and we drove them back,
Until with its very fierceness the fight grew slack.
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Scenes From a Hungarian Restaurant by C. D. Onofrio

Savoury & Sweet Restaurant in Chippawa
Savoury & Sweet Restaurant in Chippawa
Stew Brennand, Tyler Lindsa,y Kyoshi, and C.D. Onofrio performing at Savoury & Sweet Restaurant

little European
Herman Hesse
Maybe Berlin
where Jazz
plays in the club
and the young
women sitting
across from me
conjure visions
of love sweet love
sweetly the piano
plays me into reverie
once I dreamed
this place
once I dreamed
I was Hemingway
shucking oysters
on the Seine
with my pen
and poor finances
doing one of life’s
finer romances
to be in on a conversation
that spans the ages
shaking hands
with humble sages
preparing dinner
playing waitress
“so think with me on this,
how did this moment
come to exist” on somethingness
on nothingness
what’s going on
>behind the scenes
before the singer
begins to sing
imagine what went in
to that note
before this
moment
was composed
“pennies from heaven”
a poor man like me
who might chronically
underachieve
but you know
somedays I’m so sure
somedays I believe
Oh Mary, your faith was so great
“there’ll be pennies from heaven for you and me”

Source: The Author, 2017

Queen of the Mist by John Joseph O’Regan

Annie Edson Taylor, Queen of the Mist, with her barrel and her cat. Photo courtesy of Niagara Falls Public Library
Annie Edson Taylor, Queen of the Mist, with her barrel and her cat. Photo courtesy of Niagara Falls Public Library
All hail to the Queen of the Mist,
     Brave Anna Edson Taylor;
She has beaten all former records,
     By her courage, grit and valor.

This great heroine of our nation,
     Has won both fortune and fame;
Now people all over creation,
     Will praise this illustrious dame.

On the twenty-fourth day of October,
     In the year ninteen hundred and one;
The Queen of the Mist in a barrel,
     The risk of her life did run.

Over the wonderful Horseshoe Falls,
     Where the waters roar like thunder;
The barrel leaped within sight of all,
     With our intrepid lady wonder.

Annie Taylor being assisted out of the barrel after going over Niagara Falls. Left is stunter Carlisle Graham, right is riverman Red Hill.  Photo courtesy <a href=
Niagara Falls Public Library” width=”285″ height=”300″ class=”size-medium wp-image-822″ /> Annie Taylor being assisted out of the barrel after going over Niagara Falls. Left is stunter Carlisle Graham , right is riverman Red Hill. Photo courtesy Niagara Falls Public Library

Down through the surging, foaming deep,
     She came in her barrel of oak;
The crowd with rapturous cheers did leap,
     When she was taken out and spoke.

This brave woman, who knows no deception,
     Did what no one did before;
And was given a hearty reception,
     When she landed safe on shore.

Here’s to the Lady of the Cataract,
     Who has Spartan grit and valor;
Thrice, all hail, Queen of the Mist,
     Brave Anna Edson Taylor.

She has beaten the world’s record,
     Her praises we will sing;
Although a little disfigured,
     She is certainly still in the ring.

Niagara Gazette. October 26, 1901.

Source: Whalen, Dwight. The Lady Who Conquered Niagara: The Annie Edson Taylor Story. Brewer, Maine: EGA Books, 1990.

Learn more about Annie Edson Taylor

Nymph of Niagara by Samuel Lover

A Nymph of the Waves performed by Cathrina Bartho. Click for more information on this video from the Library of Congress

Nymph of Niagara!     Sprite of the mist!
With a wild magic my brow thou hast kissed;
I am thy slave, and my mistress art thou,
For thy wild kiss of magic is still on my brow.

I feel it as first when I knelt before thee,
With thy emerald robe flowing brightly and free,
Fringed with the spray-pearls and floating in mist,
Thus ‘t was my brow with wild magic you kissed.

Thine am I still, and I‘ll never forget
The moment the spell on my spirit was set;
Thy chain but a foam-wreath, yet stronger by far
Than the manacle, steel-wrought, for captive of war.

For the steel it will rust, and the war will be o‘er,
And the manacled captives be free as before;
While the foam-wreath will bind me forever to thee;
I love the enslavement and would not be free!

Nymph of Niagara! play with the breeze,
Sport with the fawns ‘mid the old forest trees;
Blush into rainbows at kiss of the sun,
From the gleam of his dawn till his bright course be run.

I‘ll not be jealous, for pure is thy sporting,
Heaven-born is all that around thee is courting;
Still will I love thee, sweet Sprite of the mist,
At first when my brow with wild magic you kissed!

Source: Myron T. Pritchard, comp. Poetry of Niagara. Boston: Lothrop Publishing, 1901.

Written on a tour of North America between 1846 – 1848.

First published in Samuel Lover.  Barney the Baron. London: John Dicks, 1860.

Also in the anthology Niagara Mornings by Andrew C. Porteus, 2016.

More about Samuel Lover

Somewhere Between Detroit and Syracuse by Jessica Lyne Jefferson

for: S.D.

We walked barefoot downtown,
Took off our raincoats under the falls,
With our pant legs rolled up,
We swam in Niagara’s fountain.

We met each other there.

We danced in a three foot pond,
Playing with someone else’s children.
Side-stepping forgotten wishes,
We filled the lines of our poem.

You asked me to marry you there.

There, when I told you of my
Dysfunctional family and lovers,
A girl’s need for stability; her strife
Of seeking greatness and purpose.

You said we would live life humble.

You went back to New York;
Taught your son to say my name.
Wrote me into your lectures;
Read my poems to your class.

You asked me to marry you there.

I, lost a tear for my ignorance,
Stepped away from myself,
Trying to recreate my vulnerability-
An insulting offer to you.

So I put those words away.

You were the first mirror to see my back eyes.
The first man to curse a shooting star,
For the raging flame it was.
The first poem I wrote,
As a woman.

 

Source: The author, 2001. Written in 1997.