At Niagara by Richard Watson Gilder

Richard Watson Gilder as an American Civil War soldier. By Sarah Wyman Whitman
R. W. Gilder as an American Civil War soldier. By Sarah Wyman Whitman

There at the chasm’s edge behold her lean
Trembling as, ‘neath the charm,
A wild bird lifts no wing to ‘scape from harm;
Her very soul drawn to the glittering green,
Smooth, lustrous, awful, lovely curve of peril;
While far below the bending sea of beryl
Thunder and tumult — whence a billowy spray
Enclouds the day.

What dream is hers? no dream hath wrought that spell!
The long waves rise and sink;
Pity that virgin soul on passion’s brink,
Confronting Fate — swift, unescapable, —
Fate, which of nature, is the intent and core,
And dark and strong as the steep river’s pour,
Cruel as love, and wild as love’s first kiss!
Ah, God! the abyss!

Source: Myron T. Pritchard, comp. Poetry of Niagara. Boston: Lothrup Publishing Co., 1901
First published in his The Great Remembrance and Other Poems, New York: The Century Co., 1893

Niagara by James Kershaw

James Kershaw
James Kershaw
particles
 pounding
  through
   the neck
    of  Time
      shaping
       this wall
        of white thunder ...
 

dreams
       shape
              me
I find them in a pool
gather them up in my hand
they are worn like marbles ...

Source:  Baltensperger, Peter, and Baltensperger, Brenda (eds.) Voices from the Niagara, St. Catharines, Moonstone Press, c.1987.

James Kershaw’s website

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Dedication of the Bells by Rev. Martin R. Jenkinson

Dedication bells
View of the Bells in the Carillon Tower of the Rainbow Bridge by George Bailey. Photo courtesy Niagara Falls Public Library Digital Collections

It stands amid floral splendour,
Its feet firmly set on the sod,
Its tower upreaching to Heaven,
Like a finger, pointing to God.

Though it stands on Canada’s soil,
It looks to America’s shore,
And the common music to both,
Is the sound of the river’s roar.

And out from that beautiful shrine,
There will come melodious knells;
The cause of this musical flood?
The tower is a Chapel of Bells.

They’re the fruit of a people’s pride.
A means of showing their praise;
In honour of two of earth’s great,
Who led them through dark, dreary days.

Their words gave balm to the weary;
Then they rallied their nations’ power.
To battle the hosts of darkness.
And give freedom one shining hour.

Their words defied the defiant,
And imparted strength to the brave,
And like some heavenly trumpet,
Aroused man’s shy hopes from the grave.

Held in high respect by earth’s great,
And loved by the humble as well,
We will be hearing their voices, when
We list to the song of the bell.

Your songs are the art of blending,
By the touch of a master’s choice.
May all who hear, catch the meaning,
Who stand within sound of your voice.

So cast on the air your message,
May if come again and again.
In notes of comfort and uplift,
Like a benediction to men.

Source:  Bridges – Rainbow – Carillon Vertical File. Niagara Falls, Ont. : Niagara Falls Public Library.

Read on the occasion of the dedication of the carillon bells, June 16, 1947.

Niagara by K. Suraiya

suraiya

Suraiya
Sun Shining Through the Mist at the Horseshoe Falls by Andrew Porteus

Niagara Falls.
It’s like watching eternity take form.
It’s like a talk between two hearts.
Flowing away forever and ever.
It’s like seeing yesterday becoming today.
And today, tomorrow. Only forward. Forward only.
It’s like seeing the word ‘never’ take its shape:
Shapelessness.
Never does it rest. Never will.
It’s like saying—
‘nothing’ is the absence of ‘everything’;
Yet both co-existing.
It’s like a beautiful dream.
But also a beautiful reality.


Niagara by K. Suraiya. Read by Oliver Porteus

Source: The author, 2001.

This poem is featured in the Poetry Walking Tour of Niagara Falls

Niagara by Arthur William Fisher

Niagara by Arthur William Fisher
Portrait of Arthur William Fisher

                        I

NIAGARA, how charms thy name
    Resounding from thy high walled sheer!
How sweet thy water's far acclaim
    That bursts upon my pricking ear!
How beams my eye with kindling flame
    As to thy presence I draw near,
Where beautied grandure's falling swell
Weaves still time's awful, mystic spell!

I gaze at thee from nearest shore,
    Close by the impending brink,
In wonder at thy fearful pour
Of waters, til, amazèd more
    Than I can tell or think,
I only see thy mist's fine shower
    That wafts upon these walls,
And vision dim that mighty Power,
    The Great Spirit of the Falls.

                    II

But lo ! up stream, in fitful dream,
    The rolling, rumbling rapids roar,
And toss and tilt and turn and teem,
And gurgle in their cascades' gleam
    From isle to isle and isle to shore;
        And oft repeat the dazzling feat,
Display their leaping wonders more,
Rush round the rocks with flaring locks,
Lead as bellweathers do their flocks,
    While through their tree-trimmed way they pour,
        These bounding waters, fleet, more fleet,
To gather in one onward rush
    Adown their troubled, rocky bed,
And struggle, straggle, gurgle, gush,
    To follow where their leaders led;
        But panting now for breath,
            They stagger to the edge
            Of overhanging ledge,
        Fearing the plunge beneath;
When forth in foam their fellows come,
Cheering and jeering the faltering and fearing,
Till onto the precipice they rush with a roar,
Exulting and leaping, as comrades before;
Yet staring, stumbling, crashing, crumbling,
    As host with host o'erpowering,
Each glistening wight of air commingled,
    They fall in gulf devouring;
Or, flaring, flashing, darting, dashing,
    To break as gleaming snow,
While splitting, splashing, gnawing, gnashing
    Upon the rocks below;
Whence o'er the heights their spirits towering,
Sweeping, swaying, rising, lowering,
    Rejoin the ceaseless flow,
That with recurring, falling shock,
    Born on the wind's bluff blast,
Wears e'er amain the shelving rock,
    And undermines aghast.
    There as by mighty hand,
A cavern forms, carved by the storms
    Of vexed spray's pelting wave;
    And in that rocky cave
Rough columns stand with altar grand;
    While fittingly conforms
The spray-worn dome and bowlder pave,
Round which reëcho e'er a stave
    Of wailing wind's weird band;
And there before the cavern door,
Attended with intoning roar,
    E'er falls the Bridal Veil
    And sweeps the filmy rail,
Which now through Bridal Hall are fanned,
Now screen that Wind's Cave from the land. 
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