Artist’s Sketch of Three Sisters and Goat Islands Just Above Niagara Falls. Courtesy of Niagara Falls Public Library
“The last excursion of the year,” I read the other day, Affordin’ opportunity to see grand old Niagara ; And for a dollar and a half, to go up there and back, And see the sights, and ride above two hundred miles of track, Seemed like we’d get our money’s worth, if we could get away, And leave the farm and kitchen cares behind us for a day. We’d been a-wantin’, all these years, to go and see the falls, But, somehow, when the chances came there’ d be so many calls For both our time and money, that the chances slipped away, While year climbed on the top of year, ’til we are growin’ gray ; And still the cares we have to meet are such a clingin’ kind, It’s often mighty difficult to slip them off behind, And dump them in a heap somewhere, or lay them on a shelf, While we get out from under, and can slip off by ourself. But nature seemed to favor us ; the season was so fine We got our summer’s work along a bit ahead of time ; And nothin’ seemed a-crowdin’, like, and coaxin’ to be done, As is the case too frequently, to keep us on the run ; And Nancy hadn’t been away, exceptin’ to the fair, To loosen up the constant strain of daily wear and tear Of wrestlin’ with problems which perplex a woman’s brain, And keep her fingers busy, and her muscles on the strain, For such a long time back that I’m almost ashamed to tell, And if I really wanted to, I couldn’t very well ; And I, myself, had worked so long, as farmers have to do, To keep the work from snarlin’, like, and keep it payin’, too, That I was glad to see a chance to lay aside the strain Which makes the years to tell on me as well as Nancy Jane ; And when I read the notice, why, it seemed to strike us so, That both of us together said, “I guess we’d better go.” And so the thing was settled, and we’d picked our grapes and plums To be ahead of frost or thieves, provided either comes ; For frosts may be expected almost any pleasant night, And thieves, if not expected, are so plenty that they might ; And Nancy had our luncheon baked, and I had bought some cheese, And she had found a paste-board box, as handy as you please To put our picnic dinner in ; so when the mornin’ came, Continue reading “Uncle Alvin at Niagara by Almon Trask Allis”→
Mvses, si vous chantez, vrayment ie vous conseille
Que vous louëz Champlain, pour estre courageux:
Sans crainte des hasards, il a veu tant de lieux,
Que ses relations nous contentment l’oreille.
Il a veu le Perou, Mexique et la Merueille
Du Vulcan infernal qui vomit tant de feux,
Et les saults Mocosans, qui offensent les yeux
De ceux qui osent voir leur cheute nonpareille.
Il nous promet encor de passer plus auant,
Reduire les Gentils, et trouuer le Leuant.
Par le Nort, ou le Su, pour aller à la Chine.
C’est charitablement tour pour l’amour de Dieu.
Fy des lasches poltrons qui ne bougent d’vn lieu!
Leur vie, sans mentir, me paroist trop mesquine.
Source: Dow, Charles Mason. Anthology and Bibliography of Niagara Falls , Albany: State of New York, 1921
Originally published: Champlain, Samuel de. Des sauvages ou Voyage de Samuel Champlain De Brouage, fait en la France Nouvelle l’an mil six cens trois, 1604
From Dow: “It is an interesting fact that the first book printed in Europe which contains a reference to Niagara Falls, should also contain this sonnet in which allusion is made to the Falls. The sonnet follows the dedication. The old spelling of the original is followed in the quotation. Research has not revealed any information regarding the author.” vol, 2, p693
From the 1899 book Old Trails on the Niagara Frontier by Frank Hayward Severance (p. 276-277): “The poetry of Niagara Falls is contemporary with the first knowledge of the cataract among civilized men. One may make this statement with positiveness, inasmuch as the first book printed in Europe which mentions Niagara Falls contains a poem in which allusion is made to that wonder … It seems proper, in quoting this first of all Niagara poems, to follow as closely as may be in modern type the archaic spelling of the original … I regret that some further research has failed to discover any further information regarding the poet De La Franchise. Obviously, he took rather more than the permissible measure of poet’s licence in saying that Champlain had seen Peru, a country far beyond the known range of Champlain’s travels. But in the phrase “les saults Mocosans,” the falls of Mocosa, we have the ancient name of the undefined territory afterwards labeled “Virginia.” The intent of the allusion is made plainer by Marc Lescarbot, who in 1610 wrote a poem in which he speaks of “great falls which the Indians say they encounter in ascending the St. Lawrence as far as the neighbourhood of Virginia.” The allusion can only be to Niagara.”
“The Columbiad” – Joel Barlow, Engraving by Ankar Smith
‡‡‡‡* * * * * * * * * * * *
Now where the lakes, those midland oceans, lie,
Columbus turn’d his heaven-illumined eye.
Ontario’s banks, unable to retain
The five great Caspians from the distant main,
Burst with the ponderous mass, and forceful whirl’d
His Laurence forth, to balance thus the world.
Above, bold Erie’s wave sublimely stood,
Look’d o’er the cliff, and heaved his headlong flood;
Where dread Niagara bluffs high his brow,
And frowns defiance to the world below.
White clouds of mist expanding o’er him play,
That tinge their skirts in all the beams of day;
Pleased Iris wantons in perpetual pride,
And bends her rainbows o’er the dashing tide.
Far glimmering in the north, bleak Huron runs,
Clear Michigan reflects a thousand suns,
And bason’d high, on earth’s broad bosom gay,
The bright Superior silvers down the day. ‡‡‡‡* * * * * * * * * * * *
Source: Joel Barlow. The Columbiad. C. & A. Conrad, 1807
Illustration from Parker’s Niagara’s Rainbow, by Mary Muse Fletcher
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡I
Yon Rainbow, circling great Niagara’s brow,
Tells, children, of a chieftain’s awful vow;
Hark to its tale of sadness and of love,
All other legends of our race above:
The story of Wenona’s White Canoe,
The grand devotion of her lover true,
The fate that swept their youthful lives away,
Marked by Niagara’s Rainbow to this day.
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡II
For know, my children, in the days of yore,
Or ever white man’s foot had pressed this shore,
In forest deep and dark our fathers dwelt,
Before the Manitou devoted knelt,
Craved His protection and His mighty aid
Against the foe and famine — to Him prayed
When pestilence up-raised its baleful head,
Swelling the gruesome ranks of warrior dead.
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡III
But comes a day when prayer and offering fail,
When medicines of wise men naught avail,
When through the tribe, with footsteps grim and gaunt,
Stalk the twin spectres, Pestilence and Want.
In terror then, around the council fire
Gather the chiefs, their head Wenonah’s sire;
“What can we offer Thee, Oh! Manitou?”
Speaks the Great Spirit then: “The White Canoe!”
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡IV
Full well they know the precious sacrifice
Demanded, but, though terrible the price,
To save the few still left it must be paid —
Niagara’s Water-god the fairest maid
Of all the tribe as offering must claim —
Her sacrifice to cleanse the tribe of blame.
Who shall it be? Alas! there is but one
On whom the lot can fall! The deed is done!
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡V
Like arrow to the mark each glance now turns
Toward fair Wenonah, and her sire’s heart yearns
At thought that she – his dear – his only child,
Must seek her fate beneath the waters wild.
Stately he rises in his place: “Nay! nay!”
He cries, “If naught but that our doom can stay,
We’ll brave the famine’s pestilential breath,
Till all the tribe lies stark and cold in death!”
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡VI
Up springs Wenonah: “Father! hear me speak!
Though but a woman, think me not so weak
That I would shrink, a coward, from flood or fire,
To save my tribe! My blood is thine, my sire!
Lead on, Oh! warriors, to Niagara’s Fall
Its might shall not my woman’s heart appal!
Farewell, my sire! Uncas, my love, farewell!
Great Water-god! sound thou Wenonah’s knell!”
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡VII
And now, through leagues of forest have they tracked
Their mournful way toward the Cataract.
Before that band of dusky warriors grim
Stalks, stern and silent, the gaunt form of him
Who, savage chieftain of a savage race,
Yet, sorrow pictured in his warrior face,
Now, torn with anguish, offers up his child,
A sacrifice unto the waters wild.
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡VIII
Amid the circle of her dusky maids,
Wenonah treads the darksome forest glades,
The fairest of her tribe — her Nation’s pride —
While Uncas walks dejected by her side.
And though her own brave eyes are filled with tears,
She strives with cheerful word to calm his fears,
But nought can give his troubled spirit rest,
Or loose those savage lips, with grief compressed.
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡IX
Now, as she hears Niagara’s deep boom,
A premonition of her dreadful doom,
Reverberating through the forest aisles,
Up in her lover’s face she faintly smiles,
And whispers of that land beyond the grave,
That bourne of maiden pure and warrior brave,
Where she, though now torn weeping from his side,
In the Great Spirit’s home may be his bride.
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡X
The White Canoe receives its precious freight
Of flowers and fruit, and clad in mimic state,
Reclines amid the bloom, Wenonah fair —
Most luscious fruit, and fairest blossom there.
The warriors grim, smile on such beauteous bribe,
To lure the spirits’ blessing on their tribe,
And all save Uncas gaze with eager eye,
As bark and burden down the current fly.
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡XI
But not alone must poor Wenonah brave
That dreadful vortex, for, though nought can save,
A love there is, death even cannot part,
And such the love that fills brave Uncas’ heart;
A single stroke and they are side by side,
Alone — together — ‘mid the boiling tide!
Hand clasped in hand as plunging o’er the brink —
Heart throbs with heart as in the flood they sink.
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡XII
The striken warriors turn in mute dismay,
Then silent — saddened — take their homeward way,
And on their heads, from out the cloudless blue,
The spray-drops fall, tinted with rainbow’s hue
“The Spirit weeps,” they cry, “for Uncas brave —
The Spirit’s bow lies upon Uncas’ Grave!”
And still the mists from her vexed bosom rise,
Niagara’s tears for Love’s great sacrifice,
And still o’er Uncas’ grave the spirit’s rainbow lies.
Source: Willard Parker. Niagara’s Rainbow: The Legend of the White Canoe. Conshohocken, PA: Willard Parker Publishing Co., 1922.
How sad, my God, to linger here, ‡‡‘Mid all these works of thine.
Alone, bereft of all I’ve loved, ‡‡And joys that once were mine!
Loud anthems cheer those crested waves, ‡‡And kiss the floods below;
Where hidden thunder smites the rocks, ‡‡And bursts in ceaseless praise,
Of HIM who fix’d the rainbow there, ‡‡To mark its brightest days!
Oh! where ‘mid all this radiant joy, ‡‡Can sorrow hope to live,
Deserted by those rays of Peace, ‡‡Which Thou alone can’st give?
* * * *
Cold, cold, and blank, that once bright home, ‡‡Where now, in lonely hours,
Love hovers round the vacant chair, ‡‡And haunts the silent bowers;
And Hopes once cherish’d there, have chang’d, ‡‡To Tears in sorrow shed,
Reflecting back the scenes I lov’d, ‡‡Ere that sweet spirit fled!
Kindred scenes, my GOD are these, ‡‡Which now around me lie,
Ever whisp’ring ― “cease poor soul, ‡‡WEtoo have yet to die!”
September 21, 1871
Source: Ridgway, Robert (ed.) The Canadian Magazine vol. 1 – July to December 1871. Toronto: Irving, Flint & Co., 1871. p. 295
