standing under the niagara falls
trying to catch the news
in the teaspoon of a poem
No. 1286
#mueller #trump #brexit #borisjohnson
Source: Nick Asbury. Realtime Notes, Volume 2: 17 August 2018 at 08:51 – 17 August 2019 at 08:39. Asbury & Asbury, 2019
From a blog post on October 25, 2019: [Realtime Notes] “is a series of poems written in rapid response to current events, both personal and political. I write at least one a day and haven’t missed a day in two years, two months and seven days. I post them on Instagram.”
Niagara Falls, From International Bridge, c1905. Courtesy of Library of Congress
Majestic symbol of eternal power ! ‡‡Dread oracle of eons all unknown !
Before thy presence Pomp and Passion cower, — ‡‡All men are equal at thy awful throne.
Abashed, the eager babble of the mart, — ‡‡To silence shamed, the vulgar greed for gain ;
No more ambition goads the weary heart, ‡‡And Toil forgets its unrequited pain.
Stern type of Truth’s inexorable law ! ‡‡No room remains for envy or for pride ;
Here prince and pauper stand in common awe, ‡‡Swayed by the spell of thy resistless tide.
A rushing, seething Sinai, — thou dost pour ‡‡On sluggish consciences the solemn sense
Of justice infinite : — thy thunder’s roar ‡‡Declares to Wrong relentless recompense.
Against our arrogance thy strength doth plead ; ‡‡Deep unto deep Imperiously calls ;
Impartial annalist ! the nations read ‡‡Their transient glory on thy ageless walls.
Yet dost thou deign to dower the moment’s need, — ‡‡Our dreams exceeding by thy bounteous sway ;
With power unrivaled thy proud flood shall speed ‡‡The New World’s progress toward Time’s perfect day.
O mighty monitor ! O seer sublime ! ‡‡The soul’s surpassing grandeur thou dost show ; —
The fountains of thy immemorial prime ‡‡Through man’s immortal being freely flow.
Source: Benjamin Copeland. Niagara, and Other Poems. Buffalo: The Matthews-Northrup Works, 1904
Dr. Benjamin Copeland (1854-1940) was a Methodist minister in Buffalo, New York. He founded three Methodist churches in that city and was the author of four volumes of poetry.
Great matchless Flood ! thy thousand lakes and rivers ‡‡Here met, plunge down these awful mountain steeps ;
How ’neath their Titan tramp the firm earth quivers, ‡‡And back with all her cliffs, astonished leaps ! ‡‡Through heaven’s dark halls the thunder wakes and sleeps,
The storm roused ocean raves, and rests his hour ; ‡‡But no repose comes to thy troubled deeps,
Thou sleepless sentinel shouting from thy tower,
To earth and sky the voice of thy stupendous power.
Cities are gathering round thee, human hands ‡‡Thy savage beauty tame, to mold their own ;
Yet firm thy rock seat, sure thy kingdom stands, ‡‡Thou reignest here chief monarch and alone. ‡‡Now yon fair hills the sun crowns like a throne,
Now sinks behind them in his shadowy fall, ‡‡And round his rest the tents of eve are strown,
And night comes listening to thy sovereign call,
As erst through old dim years, from solemn forests tall.
I start from dreams, and hear the tempest roaring, ‡‡Shudders each roof-beam, harsh the window jars ;
I rise, gaze out, — and the fair sky is pouring ‡‡The gentle light of all its glorious stars ! ‡‡Sweet shine the orb of love and red haired Mars ;
No wind ! and up yon vast white tumbling sheet, ‡‡Hangs her faint bow the Moon unstained with bars,
And sees her trembling form beneath thy feet,
Seeming to list the tale thy waters aye repeat.
Wild dusky nations on thy shores have wandered, ‡‡And loved, and fought, — pale armies joined in fray ;
And all have passed — and myriads come and pondered, ‡‡Who now are gone, or soon must go, as they ! ‡‡Still roar and foam thy broad waves green and gray,
Still round thy misty brow the rainbows span, ‡‡No power shall hush thy voice, thy waters stay,
Telling thy strength how mightier far than man,
Till thy small task is wrought in God’s unbounded plan.
Source: James Staunton Babcock. Visions and Voices. Hartford: Edwin Hunt, 1849
‘T WAS evening, and Niagara’s tide ‡‡Like giant serpent crawling,
Its varnished skin, in moonbeams dyed, ‡‡With hissing voice was calling,
Upon the cataract below, ‡‡Which hoarsely was replying.
E’en thus when fiery rivers flow
Along the sky, and with their glow,
The black couch of the thunderer show, ‡‡We hear his stern voice crying.
It was a night of loveliness, ‡‡A white cloud had been veiling
The moon, but now, with silvery dress ‡‡Athwart the sky was sailing ; —
The bright eyed sentinels that stand, ‡‡Upon the walls of Heaven,
In glittering robes, a radiant band,
With myriad wings the forest fanned,
Whose branches whispered of a land, ‡‡Where endless joys are given
It was a night of loveliness, ‡‡A shallop, old reclining
Beside the shore, seemed in distress, ‡‡Neglected and repining ;
Upon her thwart I set me down, ‡‡And watched the gliding water,
That sparkled like a Monarch’s crown,
And clustered trees, whose shadows brown,
Lay on the landscape, like a frown ‡‡On cheek of beauty’s daughter.
Before me soon, a vision rose, ‡‡An Eden landscape glowing,
Like that which some magician shows, ‡‡All red with roses blowing ;
Where flashing like a sunbeam swift, ‡‡Bright rainbow-tinted wings did quiver,
But soon the fairy-land did drift
Like cloud away, the scene did shift,
I woke, and found myself adrift ‡‡Upon the rushing river !
Oarless, adown the current went ‡‡That boat and I together,
As from their boughs red leaves are rent, ‡‡In Autumn’s stormy weather !
Now in some whirling eddy borne, ‡‡Now bending tree-tops under,
And all the time from silver throne,
As if in mockery, on me shone
The Queen of Night — and solemn — lone, ‡‡Arose the cataract’s thunder !
Down, down we flew ! — no help was near, ‡‡Dark clouds came o’er the water,
As the black wings of Death appear ‡‡O’er crimsoned field of slaughter !
I thought upon my early doom, ‡‡Of hopes once brightly glowing
The golden skies now hid in gloom,
And still the cataract’s solemn boom,
Came like a message from the tomb — ‡‡” To Spirit-Land thou’rt going ! ”
O how the scenes of early days, ‡‡With Memory’s wings, came round me !
It seemed as if some gentle Fays ‡‡In dreamy spell had bound me.
Fond ones were by my side once more, ‡‡Their eyes with kindness beaming,
And ‘ mong them her who ever wore
For me a smile. The cataract’s roar,
Grew louder — but on island shore ‡‡I saw a beacon streaming.
My boat drew near that rocky isle, ‡‡Which for a moment caught her ;
That rugged island still doth smile ‡‡Amid the boiling water ;
For, on its crags, with nimble feet, ‡‡Like frighten’d deer I darted,
While downward, on its course so fleet,
As porpoises at sea retreat
Toward the storm — so Death to greet, ‡‡That boat flew as we parted.
Source: E. Curtiss Hine. The Haunted Barque, and Other Poems. Auburn, NY: J.C. Derby & Co., 1848
In the preface Hine wrote: “Most of the following Poems were composed at sea, while the Author was attached to an American Frigate cruising in the Pacific Ocean, to while away the tedious hours — the monotony and ennui of a life on board a ship of war.”
