Niagara by James Staunton Babcock

babcock
James Staunton Babcock, 1815-1847

Great matchless Flood ! thy thousand lakes and rivers
‡‡Here met, plunge down these awful mountain steeps ;
How ’neath their Titan tramp the firm earth quivers,
‡‡And back with all her cliffs, astonished leaps !
‡‡Through heaven’s dark halls the thunder wakes and sleeps,
The storm roused ocean raves, and rests his hour ;
‡‡But no repose comes to thy troubled deeps,
Thou sleepless sentinel shouting from thy tower,
To earth and sky the voice of thy stupendous power.

Cities are gathering round thee, human hands
‡‡Thy savage beauty tame, to mold their own ;
Yet firm thy rock seat, sure thy kingdom stands,
‡‡Thou reignest here chief monarch and alone.
‡‡Now yon fair hills the sun crowns like a throne,
Now sinks behind them in his shadowy fall,
‡‡And round his rest the tents of eve are strown,
And night comes listening to thy sovereign call,
As erst through old dim years, from solemn forests tall.

I start from dreams, and hear the tempest roaring,
‡‡Shudders each roof-beam, harsh the window jars ;
I rise, gaze out, — and the fair sky is pouring
‡‡The gentle light of all its glorious stars !
‡‡Sweet shine the orb of love and red haired Mars ;
No wind ! and up yon vast white tumbling sheet,
‡‡Hangs her faint bow the Moon unstained with bars,
And sees her trembling form beneath thy feet,
Seeming to list the tale thy waters aye repeat.

Wild dusky nations on thy shores have wandered,
‡‡And loved, and fought, — pale armies joined in fray ;
And all have passed — and myriads come and pondered,
‡‡Who now are gone, or soon must go, as they !
‡‡Still roar and foam thy broad waves green and gray,
Still round thy misty brow the rainbows span,
‡‡No power shall hush thy voice, thy waters stay,
Telling thy strength how mightier far than man,
Till thy small task is wrought in God’s unbounded plan.


Source:  James Staunton Babcock.  Visions and Voices.  Hartford: Edwin Hunt, 1849

Stamford Collegiate Memories by Stephanie Vigh Nielsen

stamford
Stamford Collegiate 2021. Photo by G. R. Nielsen

When I was young, I would walk to school
In sun or snow or rain
I’d make a left at Montrose Road
And head up Lundy’s Lane.

As I reached the canal, I would stand and look
At the current moving fast.
Then head on quickly to Drummond Road
So I wouldn’t be late for class.

The first day I arrived at school
I was overwhelmed with fright.
Who would I know, where did I fit?
Would I ever feel all right?

But it didn’t take long before friends came along
Ones that attended my previous school.
We were delighted to find one another again
Joking around and acting like fools.

At lunch time we would congregate
In a basement room to eat.
And I would sing an Elvis song
While my best friend kept the beat.

Banging her hands on a garbage can
While the rest of us clapped along.
They were wonderful girls and precious times
Where we all felt we belonged.

Cadets marching in the back field
We enjoyed the discipline.
And the rifle range was a challenging sport
The blasts would make our ears ring.

The time has passed, I’m no longer young
But I still remember those years.
Academic classes and musical shows
Puppy love and all those tears.

I cherish the years I spent there
The memories are etched in my mind.
The friendships and learning that took place
Have sustained me throughout my lifetime.

So in ending this poem I want to give thanks
To my high school on Drummond Road.
My life has been happy – my goals attained
And that’s why I’ve written this ode.


Source: The author, 2021

Visit Stephanie Vigh Nielsen’s Niagara Proud website

Stamford Collegiate is located near the intersection of Lundy’s Lane and Drummond Road

A Night on the Niagara by E. Curtiss Hine

hine
Niagara Falls by Moonlight by George Barker

‘T WAS evening, and Niagara’s tide
‡‡Like giant serpent crawling,
Its varnished skin, in moonbeams dyed,
‡‡With hissing voice was calling,
Upon the cataract below,
‡‡Which hoarsely was replying.
E’en thus when fiery rivers flow
Along the sky, and with their glow,
The black couch of the thunderer show,
‡‡We hear his stern voice crying.

It was a night of loveliness,
‡‡A white cloud had been veiling
The moon, but now, with silvery dress
‡‡Athwart the sky was sailing ; —
The bright eyed sentinels that stand,
‡‡Upon the walls of Heaven,
In glittering robes, a radiant band,
With myriad wings the forest fanned,
Whose branches whispered of a land,
‡‡Where endless joys are given

It was a night of loveliness,
‡‡A shallop, old reclining
Beside the shore, seemed in distress,
‡‡Neglected and repining ;
Upon her thwart I set me down,
‡‡And watched the gliding water,
That sparkled like a Monarch’s crown,
And clustered trees, whose shadows brown,
Lay on the landscape, like a frown
‡‡On cheek of beauty’s daughter.

Before me soon, a vision rose,
‡‡An Eden landscape glowing,
Like that which some magician shows,
‡‡All red with roses blowing ;
Where flashing like a sunbeam swift,
‡‡Bright rainbow-tinted wings did quiver,
But soon the fairy-land did drift
Like cloud away, the scene did shift,
I woke, and found myself adrift
‡‡Upon the rushing river !

Oarless, adown the current went
‡‡That boat and I together,
As from their boughs red leaves are rent,
‡‡In Autumn’s stormy weather !
Now in some whirling eddy borne,
‡‡Now bending tree-tops under,
And all the time from silver throne,
As if in mockery, on me shone
The Queen of Night — and solemn — lone,
‡‡Arose the cataract’s thunder !

Down, down we flew ! — no help was near,
‡‡Dark clouds came o’er the water,
As the black wings of Death appear
‡‡O’er crimsoned field of slaughter !
I thought upon my early doom,
‡‡Of hopes once brightly glowing
The golden skies now hid in gloom,
And still the cataract’s solemn boom,
Came like a message from the tomb —
‡‡” To Spirit-Land thou’rt going ! ”

O how the scenes of early days,
‡‡With Memory’s wings, came round me !
It seemed as if some gentle Fays
‡‡In dreamy spell had bound me.
Fond ones were by my side once more,
‡‡Their eyes with kindness beaming,
And ‘ mong them her who ever wore
For me a smile.   The cataract’s roar,
Grew louder — but on island shore
‡‡I saw a beacon streaming.

My boat drew near that rocky isle,
‡‡Which for a moment caught her ;
That rugged island still doth smile
‡‡Amid the boiling water ;
For, on its crags, with nimble feet,
‡‡Like frighten’d deer I darted,
While downward, on its course so fleet,
As porpoises at sea retreat
Toward the storm — so Death to greet,
‡‡That boat flew as we parted.


Source:  E. Curtiss Hine.  The Haunted Barque, and Other Poems. Auburn, NY: J.C. Derby & Co., 1848

In the preface Hine wrote: “Most of the following Poems were composed at sea, while the Author was attached to an American Frigate cruising in the Pacific Ocean, to while away the tedious hours — the monotony and ennui of a life on board a ship of war.”

About photographer George Barker

An Address to the Body of a Man in the Whirlpool — Niagara by Emily Thornton Charles

charles
Emily Thornton Charles

Ah, how ceaseless the rounds which, in darkness and gloom,
Thou hast made in the noisy confines of thy tomb,
‡‡‡‡‡Since the whirlpool so great,
‡‡‡‡‡Like a maelstrom of fate,
‡‡‡‡‡Did fiercely surround thee.
‡‡‡‡‡Drew downward and drowned thee.
‡‡‡‡‡Thou shrieked but none heard thee.
‡‡‡‡‡It beat thee and stirred thee,
‡‡‡‡‡Despoiled thee of breath,
‡‡‡‡‡And whirled thee to death.
Rising up, sinking down, with a thundering sound,
Thou art lashed by its fury around and around.
‡‡‡‡‡Now to sight thou art lost ;
‡‡‡‡‡Like a bubble art tossed
‡‡‡‡‡By the torrent’s strong clasp,
‡‡‡‡‡By the raging wave’s grasp,
‡‡‡‡‡Ever round and around,
‡‡‡‡‡Whilst the thundering sound
‡‡‡‡‡Ringeth still on deaf ears,
‡‡‡‡‡As it did ere you drowned.
Who, alas, were thy friends who must mourn thy sad fate ?
And how many are made, by thy death, desolate ?
Idle questions we ask, for we never shall know
Who was tossed by these waves, or in depths thrust below,
‡‡‡‡‡Now so fast and now slow,
As the wild gleaming whirlpool compels thee to go ;
‡‡‡‡‡Now a hand, or a foot
‡‡‡‡‡Close incased in a boot,
‡‡‡‡‡But a glimpse of a face —
So quickly it vanished — all too quickly to trace
Or to search out its features. Oh, terrible jest !
It is said, after death, that the body finds rest ;
Finds rest ! Seest thou thine ? It is whirling about
From the great seething caldron no more to get out.
Didst e’er fancy a fate like to this — that thou must
Be beaten and pounded, as ’twere hastened to dust,
‡‡‡‡‡With a din and a roar
‡‡‡‡‡Like the cannon’s outpour ?
‡‡‡‡‡For an instant didst think,
‡‡‡‡‡As thou stoodst on the brink
And looked on the rapids, that whene’er thou wert dead
They would grind thee to dust for Niagara’s bed ?
‡‡‡‡‡For it will not be long
‡‡‡‡‡Ere the eddying throng —
Waves we read of in story and picture in song —
Fiercely dash thee to pieces with shriek or deep groan —
Even droppings of water will wear away stone—
They will rend thy limp limbs, and will tear them apart ;
Will reach to thy vitals ; they will pluck out thy heart,
‡‡‡‡‡Until no one can see
‡‡‡‡‡What resemblance there be
‡‡‡‡‡Or a vestige in thee
‡‡‡‡‡Of a being who once was a mortal like me !


Source: Emily Thornton Charles.  Lyrical Poems, Songs, Pastorals, Roundelays, War Poems, Madrigals. 2nd ed. Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott Company, 1887

Emily Thornton Charles had previously published the book Hawthorn Blossoms under the name Emily Hawthorne

Read about Emily Thornton Charles

“Not a great poem, but written in an interesting and buoyant style” — Charles Mason Dow


Niagara Falls by Thomas Frederick Young

young
Horseshoe Fall, Niagara, Seen From Below on the Canadian Side by an unknown artist. Colour tint by Erna Jahnke. Courtesy of the Niagara Falls Public Library

Niagara, thou mighty flood,
I’ve seen thee fall, I’ve heard thee roar,
And on the frightful verges stood,
That overhang thy rocky shore.

I’ve sailed o’er surging waves below,
And view’d the rainbow’s colour’d light,
And felt the spray, thy waters throw,
When leaping, with resistless might.

I’ve seen the rapids in their course,
Like madden’d, living things rush on,
With wild, unhesitating force,
To where thy mighty chasms yawn.

And there to take the awful leap,
And fall, with hoarse and sullen roar,
Into th’ unfathomable deep,
Which rolleth on, from shore to shore.

Niagara, thou’rt mighty, grand,
Thou fill’st human souls with awe,
For thee, and for that mighty Hand,
Which maketh thee, by nature’s law.

Thou’rt great, thou mighty, foaming mass
Of water, plunging, roaring down,
But so are we, yea, we surpass
Thee, and we wear a nobler crown.

Thy mighty head is crowned with foam,
And rainbows wreathe thy robes of blue ;
Our earthly forms — our present home —
Are insignificant to you.

But look, thou mighty thund’rer, thou,
Tho’ puny be our forms to thine,
These forms possess, yea, even now,
A spark, a ray of life divine.

Rush on, O waters ! proudly hurl
Thyself to roaring depths below,
And let the mists of ages curl,
And generations come and go.

But know, stupendous wonder, know,
Thy rocks would crumble, at the nod
Of Him, who lets thy waters flow ;
Thy Maker, but our Friend and God.

Thy rocks shall crumble, fall they must ;
Thy waters, then, shall plunge no more,
But we shall rise, e’en from the dust,
To live upon another shore.


Source: T.F. Young.  Canada, and Other PoemsToronto: Hunter, Rose & Co., Printers, 1887