Niagara by M. Elva Wood

wood
Table Rock, Niagara by Edward Ruggles, 1867. Image courtesy of the Library of Congress

ALL hail to thee, Niagara !   Monarch thou,
Before whose echoing thunders, every sound
Shrinks tearfully away !     The pilgrim heart
Bowing in deepest homage at thy shrine,
Trembles, and sinks in fear !    The admiring eye,
Pressed by thy startling grandeur, droops in tears :
And the frail lyre that would its sweetest strains
Invoke unto thy praise, alas ! grows dumb.
Bright as the stars ! thy mantle : and thy crown,
The circling bow wherewith He spans the heavens.
And thy cloud-shadowed feet, even stand as once
At Israel’s tent, thy glorious Maker’s stood :
Of whose great majesty and power sublime,
His hand hath formed thee evermore to speak !


Source: Wood. M. Elva.  Songs of the Noon and Night.  New York: D. Appleton & Co., 1866

Lines to a Friend at Niagara by F. E. F. (Fanny Eliza Foster)

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Horseshoe Falls, Niagara from the Canadian Side by George Russell Dartnell, 1843. Courtesy of Niagara Falls Public Library

 

    ‘Tis Sabbath morning ! Lo ! the dawn is breaking, 
The earth, in her beautiful majesty waking ;
While thou, O Niagara ! with thy sleepless flood, 
Sendest up thy perpetual anthem to God ;
And on man thou art calling, with thy mighty voice, To worship, adore Him, and in Him rejoice !

    I would, my dear friend, I were with thee to-day, 
To list to that music  to watch the bright spray ! 
That, as the grand chorus was wafted above, 
My heart might, with thine, yield its incense of love ; 
But though I in body, far distant must be,
In spirit, I’m present with ma chère amie.


Source:  F. E. F. [Fanny Eliza Foster].  Pebbles of Poetry.  Boston: Foster and Company, 1858

Niagara by Richard Kelsey

kelsey
Grand Falls at Niagara from near the Table Rock, Canada side, July 22, 1846 by Michael Seymour. Courtesy of the Library of Congress


WHAT
 Wild enthusiast, with adventurous hand, 
Rashly shall dare to intonate the lyre ?
What prophet spirit o’er thy fearful strand 
Shall breathe, in awful cadences of fire, 
Strains which angelic minstrels might inspire ; 
And from their embryo nothingness upraise, 
With magic hand, the intellectual choir ;
Pour in rapt sounds a kindred flood of praise,
And draw down Heaven to hear the blest melodious lays ? 

What limpid wave reflect thy rushing tide, 
What gleaming fancy thy vast might pourtray, 
Diffuse o’er space her sunshine tissue wide, 
Arrest the glories of thy floating spray, 
And bid thy fleeting colours live for aye ; 
And rein thy coursers in her mimic thrall, 
And bid thy eddying car her will obey ? 
Smiling in strength, thy ceaseless volumes fall, 
And with exulting laugh thou proudly scornest all.

Thy white mist rises, as ascends to heaven 
Some holy altar’s pure oblation fire ;
Not as foul steams, whose fœtid tresses riven, 
Unveil the vultures of war’s funeral pyre, 
Where groaning fathers o’er their sons expire ; 
And, wailing loud, of every hope despoiled, 
Lovers the bloodlocks from their lovers tear ; 
And fiercecontending with the jackall wild,
The maddening mother shrieks, and faints upon her child :

But as the clear light of beneficence, 
Radiant of peace and redolent of joy ; 
Effacing tears and blushes of offence,
And bidding grovelling sadness soar on high, 
On rapturous wings of silent ecstasy : 
But as that holy dew of holiest earth,
Ere man had stained her with his infamy,
Which, mingling with the angel’s sacred mirth, 
Returned imbued with praise, and sanctified her birth.

Still, as I breathless, fixed in rigid trance, 
And fascinating terror stand at gaze ; 
Volumed on volumed rapids swiftly glance 
And die, as time’s vast myriads of days 
Blend into undistinguishable haze ;
Save that lone fragments of the world gone by, 
Scrolled o’er with crime and bloodshed, yet amaze 
The seekers of man’s direful history,
Summed up in rending curse and bitterest agony.

So falls thy flood, so swiftly plunges down 
Some gallant vessel caught within thy whirl,
By one rude crash in countless fragments thrown ; 
Thy melting eddies o’er the shivers curl,
And far and wide the stranded cordage hurl,
Speaking thy wild tremendous energy ;
As, amid thy kindred deluge, when from the swirl 
Re-nascent mountains reared their pinnets high,
And one wide-bosomed calm soft wooed the evening sky :

Glittering, the ripple on the horizon, marked 
The whirlwind dipping his ferocious van ; 
Harshly around destruction’s hell-hounds barked, 
Black yawning chasms through riven mountains ran, 
And one shrill shriek burst from arkshielded man ; 
Onward, right onward, as the depths unclosed, 
Swept he the vast waste with capacious span, 
Hurling huge monsters into eternal snows,
Where no exploring steps e’er break their fixed repose.

Deep as I drink, with neversated eye, 
Thy glorious beauty, stealing melancholy 
Palsies my senses ; yet the alluring tie 
Snaps not ; but, traversing in agony 
Athwart thy headlong current, vacantly 
Seeing, I see not, yet still gaze upon 
Thy alluring horrors, dim and gloomily ;
As wreck-left on some bleak rock, barren, lone, 
Despairing seamen watch the tempesttokening sun.

Vast world of waters, ever pouring down
And ever still to pour ; vicissitude
Of nature shakes thee not ; thou holdest on 
Thy stedfast course, and no similitude 
Hast ever found. Sublimest magnitude 
Has o’er thy ample bosom wide outspread
His broad dominion ; rough rocks, rent and rude 
Grace, but mar not the honours of thy head, 
And wearying time on thee has no dishonour shed.

So fearlessly, majestically great,
Marches in meek, dove-eyed benignity, 
Unquailed by storm, unbowed by age’s weight, 
Kindred in spirit, Christianity ;
And still shall march in calm security ; 
Close to her bosom, with unaltered mien, 
Though hurtling arrows fall incessantly,
She presses holiest hope, and smiles serene,
As terrors were but breath to wave her sun-locks sheen.

The saffron eye of morn awakening,
Looks from her waving couch of orient gold :
Gaily the blithe bird’s earliest twittering 
Bids fairest flowers their faëry cups unfold,
And flaunting tendrils laughingly behold, 
Pearl-dropt and prankt with choicest jewellery, 
The brilliant leaflets pure from Nature’s mould : 
Exult the meads, and pleasure’s iris-eye
Gleams with delight amid the enchanting minstrelsy.

And, bending in the light breeze, bough and stem, 
O’erhanging dark the steep-enshadowed tide ; 
Honoured in age’s snowy diadem,
Wave in consonancy their tresses wide, 
As the fierce dog-star, azure-canopied, 
Pouring effulgently his tempered rays, 
Sports dalliant on thy bosom : vivified, 
Rises in incense thy pellucid haze
And sward, and sky, and flood, their blest Creator praise.

And surges, leaping from thy mountain crest, 
Melt in the western red-glare, lovelily 
Dying in radiant sweetness.   Pure her breast
And cold as pure, the Naiad bashfully 
Wells out her snowy vases ; limpidly 
As beauty’s tear drops, ever still they flow, 
And Dryad sisters, sighing piteously,
View their own fate in each impulsive throe, 
And, fascinated, love, the sanctifying woe.

Wide in thy opalescent billows float, 
Colours irradiant as the hues of heaven ; 
The iridescent glow, the glittering mote,
The broad clear beam, by sunny mist-wreaths riven, 
And blending, as, imagination given,
Blend poet-dreams and darkness.    Follies flash 
O’er man as o’er thy current ; bright and even
They allure him, or, impetuously rash,
Hurl him, and all his hopes, into countless nothings dash.

In thy receding crescent dim light dwells, 
While o’er thy wide convexity the sun 
Gleams gloriously.  Elate thy bosom swells, 
And swifter plunge thy gladdening volumes down 
As glory urged and bade them hurry on. 
Like warriors burning for avenging fight, 
Flash the swift floods thy glittering edge upon, 
Glare the white surges more intensely bright,
And the quenched eye, subdued, shrinks from the excessive light.

Or, amid thy roaring stillness, peal on peal, 
Reverberating thunders rudely crash ;
Heard, yet scarce heard, though on thy pinnacle
The herald lightnings in continuous flash, 
Glance on thy heaving wave, or fiercely dash 
Into thine inmost womb ; and the waked ear 
Listens, and thinks it hears thy rival rash 
Groaning, as suffering spirits in despair
Groan in the dark, the drear, the eternal sepulchre.

Or, bursting from the death-trance, answering loud, 
As blessed hosts contending who shall sing 
Best their Creator ; emulous thy flood,
And the air-angel awfully echoing
In strenuous chorus Dark o’er  hovering
Black the dense clouds thy wide expanse o’erveil ;
And all, save sound, in slumber deadening,
The rapt ear dwells upon thy rushing gale,
Though pausing Nature seem beneath the storm to quail.

Then, suddenly, the wild glare gleams around,
 
Pouring its forked, ire-enkindled brand, 
As stains the streams, as desolates the ground, 
War’s parching breath, thy poor, devoted land, 
Once noble Græcia ; yet the scourge beneath 
Thou fashionest the weapons of command,
And Heaven shall yield thee yet the conqueror wreath, 
And Mahmoud’s blood-stained bones bleach on thy warrior heath.

Thee, vast Niagara, no tyrant curbs,
Though oft the tempest, burning in his might,
Thy mild serenity awhile disturbs,
And dares thee, placid conqueror, to the fight. 
Hurling aloft in maniac despite,
Spoils torn from sultry, equinoctial plain, 
Hopes he, elate, thy Naiads to affright, 
To bind thy spirit in the enfeebling chain,
And o’er thy smiling strand, firm fix his brutal reign,

Once owned, fixed ever.    Thou to fear or own
Sublimely scornest. Let the wild hurricane
Chafe thee and tear thee ! be thy rooted throne 
Tornado whitened ! let his vengeance rain 
As rained Gomorrah’s fire ! in disdain, 
As Britain viewed the threatinvading force, 
Thou, unsusceptible of age or pain,
Unheeding glidest from thine eternal source,
And still pursuest on, thy steady, fate-like course.

Even Winter, stern and fearless, whose chill throne,
 
In bleak, fantastic splendour overspreads
The solitary poles, oft trenches on
Thy neighbour forests, thy consanguined meads, 
Yet pauses at thy threshold Freedom shone
For ever there ! for ever shall the sun
Greet the proud, northern child ; and as her eye 
Aurora-brightened flashes, every zone
Shall hail the cherub ; shall, like thee, rely
On Heaven, assert her right, and raise her head on high.

Often thy pale blue mist, inspiriting
Shoot lucent rays ; as Heaven’s prophecy, 
Man’s dead-blank future fate illumining, 
Peoples the dim haunt of obscurity ;
And, as thy booming thunders echo by,
Oft, clinging to some grey branch, whose frail leaves 
Shiver within thy wavelet ; eagerly
Seek I thy depth, and as the billow heaves
Blithe fancy, with the spray, her visions interweaves.

And the soft moonbeams mitigate the scene
Of horror : thy dark current dimpling
With evanescent beauties, while between
Each intonating crash, light revelling
In their own music, night birds twittering, 
Then bursting in one flood of melody,
Spell the  rapt soul, that on the heaven-ward wing
Of ecstasy swift floating, soars on high,
And hears angelic strains, angelic minstrelsy.

Or, sinking into sadness, loves the light 
Upon thy elfin-tresses glittering ;
Or marks, with happy, infantine delight,
The broad orb, from her high sphere, brightening 
In thy pure, molten mirror, or chequering
Thy sportive surges, from the dark abyss 
Leaping as fire-flies, gently wakening
Earth’s pearl-drops into transient brilliantness,
Then shouting, plunge down deep, in jocund happiness.

Oh, I have stood upon thy trembling verge 
As, on the edge of time’s departing scroll 
Some holy spirit : on the deepening dirge, 
The solemn death-knell, wondrous visions roll 
Of angels beckoning the kindred soul : 
Islands of bliss, glad glory’s golden gleam, 
Realms where pure spirits exercise controul,
Altars and temples of the dread Supreme,
Bathed in one brilliant, blest, clear, crime-unspotted beam.

Yes, —oft I stand, in melancholy bliss, 
Shrunken in myself, and sinking into earth 
In deep abasement, o’er thy vast abyss, 
And daring not to ask, whence drew I birth, 
Or, what I am ; or how the shuddering earth 
Could bear such reptile wretches ; how the day- 
-Ephemerons can rush in anger forth, 
O’er the sand-grain a conqueror’s march essay, 
And microscopic space, bind in disdainful sway ?

Lords of a moment. —In thy awful view
Who shall be great : who count his ancestry :
Who dare the irrefluent current to pursue,
Trace his continuous line, through regalry,
Up to a source of blood, or villainy ?
Oh, who shall, vauntingly, aloud proclaim
His pomp, his circumstance of heraldry,
O’er thee resound his ancestorial name,
And, to thy stream outspread his muster-roll of fame ?

Low, on thy margin, pride sinks self-abased,
And pert conceit, and pampered vanity,
Into their native nothingness debased,
And conscious of their fond credulity,
Sigh, blushing, at the sad reality ;
And, in thy kingly presence, cowering,
Thee-daunted, chrysomed in humility,
O’ercount, in lowliest tremor murmuring,
And weep, as still they count each empty triumphing.

Weak, worthless, vile, and despicable, all ;
As far beneath man’s truest dignity
As thou above the meanest springlet-fall
In tinkling current glancing merrily.
Thou, in thine own severe simplicity,
Sublimely calm, appallingly serene,
Glidest in lone, tremendous majesty : 
A
bsorbed, mute wonder, with expressive mien
Lost in abstraction stands, and meditates the scene .

The Niagara Elector: A Jolly Ditty by Anonymous

elector
The Niagara Elector: A Jolly Ditty

I cannot vote for Thompson—
  Just hear the reason why—
Because this new Dominion
  Wants men who will not lie.
We want no two-faced member,
  When treason lurks around ;
We want a true Canadian
  That’s honest, upright, sound.
I cannot vote for Thompson,
  His loyalty aint clean :
He forswore his allegiance
  To England’s noble Queen.

I will not vote for Currie,
  He’s nothing but a tool,
And gets his education
  In the Globe’s disloyal school.
He’s helping Brown’s convention,
  To organize new strife,
To aid the agitator
  To start in public life.
I will not vote for Currie,
  His eyes are set behind,
And he cannot look before him,
 To see what’s in the wind !

I will not vote for Thompson,
  He’s crazy as a loon,
He’d make a splendid member
  To represent the moon !
His stomach is enormous,
  It never can be filled,
He eat Niagara Common,
  Our railroad he has grilled.
He leased up all the farmers,
  And still holds out his dish,
He swallowed half the river,
  And he wanted all the fish !

I cannot vote for Currie,
  He serves Dictator Brown,
Who sides with Reds and traitors,
  Who hate the Queen and Crown.
I cannot vote his ticket,
  He’s in the boat with Howe,
The foe of Federation
  Who wants to raise a row.
His road is not a right one—
  The Currie Road you see
He goes for Yankee Thompson, 
And that’s enough tor me ! 

I’ll never vote for Thompson,
  He wants to cut and carve,
He built himself a palace,
  And let his workmen starve.
We’ll raise the British colours
  And never turn our coat.
We’ll put in Angus Morrison
  By every loyal vote !
We will not go for Thompson,
  His promise never sticks.
We will not eat his pancakes,
Nor take his dirty bricks !

We will not vote for Currie, 
  He’s only fit to bark, 
We’ll  choose an honest farmer
  Who is a man of mark.
He ploughs the Heights of Queenston,
  He glories in their fame,
A loyal British Farmer,
  And Robertson’s his name !
We’ll never vote for Thompson,
  He took the Yankee oath,
We will not vote for Currie, 
  For HE seems nothing loath.

Come all ye Whigs and Tories,
  Whatever your degree ;
Niagara Town and Township, 
  Now loyally agree !
We love Confederation ;
  We hate mere faction fight,
We’ll back th’ Administration
  So long as they do right !
For Morrison and Robertson
  We’ll man the union boat,
We’ll gloriously elect them
  And never split a vote !

God save our new Dominion,
  God save our noble Queen ;
We’re now the biggest nation,
  America has seen.
We go for law and order,
  We’ll squelsh both Howe and Brown.
We’ll support the constitution,
  They shall never pull it down !
For Morrison and Robertson,
  We’ll all throw off our coats 
They are the people’s candidates,
  And they shall have our votes !


Source: The Niagara Elector has no date, no author, and no publication information. This item can be found in the collections of Library and Archives Canada and full text on the Internet Archive

N.B. The correct spelling of “Thompson” as used in the poem is without the “p” – hence “Thomson”

This poem refers to the federal and provincial elections of 1867.  In the federal election held from August 7 to September 20, 1867,  in the Town of Niagara (current day Niagara-on-the-Lake) Conservative Angus Morrison defeated Liberal William Alexander Thomson 300 votes to 250 votes. In the provincial election of September 3, 1867, Conservative Donald Robertson defeated Liberal James Currie 302 votes to 254

Barn by Lorette C. Luzajic

I’m surrounded by apples. The buckets are heavy laden, spotting the front and sides of the barn with mounds of red rounds. David’s saws settle in behind the bounty.  He points to tomato vines weaving a fence on a heap of boards, to other cauldrons blooming his brother’s favoured seeds. The air is full of saw dust and skunk and Jonamac must and the sugar of warm raspberries. David shows me the jigsaw and what he is making. He hacked down the dying walnut tree himself, clawed it from the dirt with his hands and his tools, and here it is, transformed into chess: a raw rook, a crooked king, near perfect pawns. David built the barn we are in, figured out how to fit the pieces together and raise them with his own two ruddy hands and instructions from his Dad and his granddad. He is 20.  He has a slow grin and a sharp twinkle behind his glasses. When he was two, he padded over to me with an orange extension cord wound expertly around one arm, pressed the other end to my neck and made animated noises. Started digging holes and mixing cement that same summer, in his floppy yellow boots. He never cried, not until two decades had fallen away and he and I were standing together at the foot of a hospice bed, saying goodbye to my father. Dad, I said, the barn. If you could only see this kid’s barn! He never would.  He never walked again. We buried him. But in the midsummer sunset, the rooster weathervane raised to that roof brands the night in his blood.


Source: The author.  This prose poem first appeared in Verse and Voice (Hong Kong)

barn
Lorette in North Africa with her camel friend.

Lorette C. Luzajic was born in Niagara Falls and lives in Toronto. She has a degree in journalism from Ryerson University, but has been a lifelong student of art history and poetry. She is the founding editor of The Ekphrastic Review, a journal devoted to literature inspired by visual art. She writes prose poems and small fictions that merge personal experiences and observations and the contemplation of visual art. Her works were selected as Best Small Fictions 2023 and 2024, and have also been nominated several times each for Best of the Net, the Pushcart Prize, and Best Microfictions, as well as seven times for Best American Food Writing for her column on food and art in Good Food Revolution. Lorette is also an award-winning mixed-media artist who has collectors in over forty countries so far. Visit her at www.mixedupmedia.ca