I.
Who has not had a wish t'inspect
Niagara's famed cataract ?
And all the wonders to explore
From Erie to Ontario's shore ?
The battles, lately fought between ;
Give lively interest to the scene ;
And lead the curious stranger round,
To scrutinize each battle ground.
But sentiments more noble far,
Than thoughts of that unnatural war,
The scenery around inspires,
And every feeling bosom fires.
II.
The Boat had stemm'd Ontario's tide,
And anchor'd on the southern side ;
A noble river with its waves,
Two rival nations' confines laves ;
That Giant stream, which through the lakes
Of Canada, its circuit makes,
And issuing from Ontario
About two hundred miles below,
(After so long a pilgrimage,
Less holy name were sacrilege)
Assumes St. Lawrence, name of awe
But here 'tis called Niagara.
III.
Upon this river's eastern side,
A Fortress stands in warlike pride ;
Ontario's surges lash its base,
And gradually its walls deface ;
And, from its topmost tower display'd,
A flag, with stripes and stars portray'd ;
Upon the west an ancient mound,
The Union Jack and - British ground :
Nor distant far another stands,
Which the whole river's mouth commands.
Between the two lay Newark village,
Which yet they let its neighbours pillage ;
Nor only so, but burn it down ;
And from its ashes now has grown,
Another, but more lovely far,
Since the conclusion of the war
Which they have nam'd Niagara. Continue reading "Wonders of the West; or, A Day at the Falls of Niagara in 1825: a poem by a Canadian [ James Lynne Alexander ]"→
O'er Huron's wave the sun was low,
The weary soldier watch'd the bow
Fast fading from the cloud below
The dashing of Niagara.
And while the phantom chain'd his sight,
Ah! little thought he of the fight --
The horrors of the dreamless night,
That posted on so rapidly.
Soon, soon is fled each softer charm;
The drum and trumpet sound alarm,
And bid each warrior nerve his arm
For boldest deeds of chivalry;
The burning red-cross, waving high,
Like meteor in the evening sky,
Proclaims the haughty foemen nigh
To try the strife of rivalry.
Columbia's banner floats as proud,
Her gallant band around it crowd,
And swear to guard or make their shroud
The starred flag of liberty.
"Haste, haste thee, Scott, to meet the foe,
And let the scornful Briton know,
Well strung the arm and firm the blow
Of him who strikes for liberty."
Loud, loud the din of battle rings,
Shrill through the ranks the bullet sings,
And onward fierce each foeman springs
To meet his peer in gallantry.
Behind the hills descends the sun,
The work of death is but begun,
And red through twilight's shadows dun
Blazes the vollied musketry.
"Charge, Miller, charge the foe once more."
And louder than Niagara's roar
Along the line is heard, encore,
"On, on to death or victory."
From line to line, with lurid glow,
High arching shoots the rocket's bow,
And lights the mingled scene below
Of carnage, death, and misery.
The middle watch has now begun,
The horrid battle-fray is done,
No longer beats the furious drum,
To death, to death or victory.
All, all is still - with silent tread
The watchman steals among the dead,
To guard his comrade's lowly bed,
Till morning gave him sepulture.
Low in the west, of splendour shorn,
The midnight moon with bloody horn
Sheds her last beam on him, forlorn,
Who fell in fight so gloriously;
Oh! long her crescent wax and wane
Ere she behold such fray again,
Such dismal night, such heaps of slain,
Foe mix'd with foe promiscuously.
Source: Poems of American History, Collected & Edited by Burton Egbert Stevenson. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1936. p. 308-309
n.b. The Battle of Bridgewater is better known as the Battle of Lundy’s Lane.
When time with ruthless wings sweeps on,
The earth of all its bygone best is shriven;
And so, old edifice, thy day is done;
The newer day asks more than thou hast given.
In honest hearts a thought for thee enshrined,
Of sheltering walls in days almost forgot;
When knowledge forced on the unwilling mind
Saved many from ignominy's cheerless lot.
Man's mind is like a shallow streamlet flowing,
Forever winding onward to the sea
Of time's oblivion, and the growing
Like rare immortal fountain, starts with thee.
Prayers offered have ascended from thy walls
For benefits the which our fickle mind
Scarce can remember, yet those earnest calls
Brought sweet, refreshing mercy to mankind.
If in the rushing years that are to be
No steadfast stone of memory marks thy end,
When rich endeavor finds its tide in thee,
Thou has not been in vain, old hoary friend.
Source: Niagara Falls Evening Review, December 22, 1915.
Before the poem: “I see that the old school has already been pulled down. It was, I believe, also used as a church, and this, with other things, caused me to write these new lines, which, if you think worthy, I shall be glad to see printed in your paper.”
