In a realm of song and shine,
Where God’s sweetest wild flowers twine,
By Niagara’s singing stream,
Last night in a golden dream,
Wandered I, while at my side
Was a laughing maid, blue-eyed.
Spun from the silk of the corn
Were her tresses, waist length worn;
Fragile, as small pinkest shells
Her wee ears; like jingling bells
Tinkling in the soul of me
Her pure laugh of ecstacy.
Underneath the blossoming boughs
Of the locust, tender vows
Once again our young hearts made;
While the violins that played
Of the breeze, through blooms above,
Thrilled our souls with God’s first love
Source: Tom Lloyd Finlayson. Songs of Niagara Frontier and Other Poems; Autographed by the Author. St. Thomas, Sutherland Press, Limited. n.d.
Judging from the locations mentioned in the poems in this pamphlet it seems that Finlayson spent his childhood in Fort Erie, Ontario.
I often look up and into the sky.
I’m guessing, Heaven only knows the reason why.
WhenI get lonesome as I usually do.
I contemplate about the time spent with you.
My youthful years went by far too quick.
Looking up into heaven for my uncle Nick.
Being my Cub Scout leader teaching me well.
Learned a lot more, it’s amazing to tell.
Laying on my back, I see rivers of light.
I can see water flowing. It’s a wonderful sight.
He taught the boys to row a canoe.
Down through the rapids here’s what you do.
With a paddle you could make water flow.
Making your vessel travel where you wanted to go.
Tops of the trees have plenty of leaves.
Rivers of light flowing thanks to the breeze.
One Summer we circumnavigated around the Great lakes.
We learned from his talking, by our mistakes.
I remember a river that became Niagara Falls.
The swift mighty river that became river stalls.
Rivers of my youth flowed like blood in my veins.
Learned to build fires when no one complains.
He loved to joke, here’s one of his best.
His laughter made tears, let’s get some rest.
Folks should know you can’t drink Canada Dry.
The answer is easy, just ask yourself why.
The answer is as comfortable as nightly dreams.
Canada has too many lakes, rivers, and streams.
Nighttime fell upon my campsite under the trees.
The rivers went dark, went to my knees.
Giving thanks to the Lord for the view.
So very thankful that I can tell you.
Open your eyes to the great sights we see.
There all around us, take it from me.
Source: Wayne Ritchie, 2023
At the time of submitting this poem, Wayne Ritchie was 73 years old and had been writing poetry and short stories for 60 years.
Fisherman in the Niagara River Near the Brink of the Falls. March 2003 Photo by Andrew Porteus
The forest is so quiet and I don’t know why.
Yes it’s all up to the man in the sky.
I’ve heard the water but I never saw it fall.
Now I know why humans come for the thrill of it all.
The animal kingdom keeps saying the world’s lost its cool.
The whole human race has turned into a gigantic fool.
Not one single human ventures out from their tiny abode.
My guess is humans think the world’s ready to explode.
It’s hotter in the summer and colder when it snows.
They always blame global warming however Mother Nature really knows.
Well I saw for myself, stepped out taking a chance.
Never knew falling water knew how to shimmy and dance.
The sound is so deafening, it is hurting my ears.
Water is splashing my face like I’m filled with tears.
Feels so cold to the touch, I’d love a taste.
It’s pure energy and it is all going to waste.
A sad state of affairs when no humans are around.
I really can’t get over how quiet the peaceful sound.
No roaring cars on the road with their bright lights.
It’s so much safer when I’m walking alone at nights.
I have always wondered where does this water all flow?
One day I shall follow it, I’m quisitive you know.
Does this flow into a river, to a very large lake?
It’s a life changing moment, I know I should take.
As for now I’ll just stand here and admire the view.
I’ll pretend the wind is a human, like I’m talking to you.
Wait! Is that a human fishing down on the shore?
I must visit him, maybe he will tell me more.
I bet you he’s kind hearted and will toss me a fish.
I’ve yet to meet a mean human, I can only wish.
Now how do I get there? Well look there’s a trail.
I’m a kind thoughtful animal from my antlers to tail.
So this is what the humans call the mighty Niagara Falls.
A true sign of mother nature when she bids her calls.
A majestic beautiful true life drama to feel and see.
Now let’s head to that fisherman, hope he’ll be nice to me.
Source: Wayne Ritchie, 2023
At the time of submitting this poem, Wayne Ritchie was 73 years old and had been writing poetry and short stories for 60 years.
Atlength with more than human strength, ‡‡‡‡The Huron’s deadly foe, Seizedonhisthroatandheldhimdown, ‡‡‡‡Tosuffocatebelow. Hardwasthestruggle, and the waves ‡‡‡‡Contending claim theirprey, Ando’erthe dyingHurondance; ‡‡‡‡Then bearhiscorpseaway.
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡XXXV.
AllhelplessfloatstheIroquois, ‡‡‡‡Andoftaroundisroll’d. Tillon a frailandbrokenwreck, ‡‡‡‡Hefaintlymakeshishold. Nopowerhadhetotemptthedeep, ‡‡‡‡Hiswontedstrengthwasgone, Andev’rypassingwavethatrose, ‡‡‡‡Frownedonhimasitsown.
YeSpiritsofthewaterycaves, ‡‡‡‡Fromheryourdangersstay, Granther the objectofherhopes, ‡‡‡‡Andsafelyspeedherway. She nearsthe dark and fainting brave, ‡‡‡‡And‘midtheWhirlpool’sroar Sheliftshiminherfragileboat, ‡‡‡‡Andturnshercoursetoshore.
Source: Cooper, James Fenimore [attributed to]. A Legend of the Whirlpool. Buffalo: Thomas & Co., 1840.
The text also contains notes that Cooper wrote about the Whirlpool before the poem; and some explanatory notes about the poem at the end. See the full text at Hathi Trust
Note on the first page: A part of this Legend was published in the United States Magazine [and Democratic Review], October 1839. It is authored by “S. de V.,” and has the epigram: “This grand and beautiful scene is three miles from the Falls of Niagara, and four miles from the Village of Lewiston.” It can be viewed at the Hathi Trust.