Niagara’s Charms and Death of Webb by James McIntyre

charms

charms
Matthew Webb killed in the Whirlpool Rapids July 24 1883. Courtesy of Niagara Falls Public Library

Gazing on rapids mighty sea,
Struggling fiercely to be free,
But drawn downwards in its course
By gravitation’s wondrous force,
O’er those perpendicular walls,
Hurled ’mong mighty rocks it falls,
Causing the earth to throb and shake
Like to the tremor of earthquake.

Thus the world’s greatest wonder
Reverberates like peals of thunder,
Enshrined with mist and beauteous glow
Of varied tints of the rainbow,
Most glorious sight the human eye
Hath ever seen beneath the sky,
Along these banks none ever trod
But did feel grateful to his God,
For lavishing with bounteous hand
Glories majestic and so grand.

The foaming billows soon are seen
Transformed into a beauteous green,
Plunged by whirlpools dread commotion
It becomes a seething ocean,
Where furies join in surging dance
From centre to circumference,
This is the favorite abode
Of Neptune, mightiest sea God,
He hath decreed none shall survive
Who will into this vortex dive.

Webb swam the English channel brave,
Like seabird he did love to lave
His breast upon the mightiest wave,
Alas, found here a watery grave;
Torrent onward rushes frantic
On its course to the Atlantic,
But on its way doth gently flow
Through blue lake Ontario,
Rejoicing on its way it smiles,
Kissing the shores of Thousand Isles,
Mingling with St. Lawrance motion,
It soon is blended with the ocean.


Source: Niagara’s Charms and Death of Webb was published in McIntyre, James. Poems of James McIntyre.  Ingersoll: The Chronicle, 1889.

This poem is featured in episode 3 of the Niagara Falls History and Poetry podcast

Biography of James McIntyre in the Dictionary of Canadian Biography.

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


burgoyne bridge by atlantic

burgoyne

we were not meant
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡to take Flight
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡in such a manner

a brief act
‡‡‡‡‡‡of desperation
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡will cause lasting wounds
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡that can never heal

please

‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡stay grounded



Source: the author, 2019

Burgoyne Bridge was infamous as a place to commit suicide, as it crossed high over the Twelve Mile Creek. Suicide barriers were installed when the Burgoyne Bridge was replaced in 2016.

atlantic was born and raised in Niagara Falls, where he still resides. A selection of his work is available on Instagram

Also by atlantic:
•    Baby Steps IV
•    carnival tunes
•    Robert Frost
•    water child

Lake Erie by Cole McInerney

lake
Waterfowl on Lake Erie. Photo by Cole McInerney

The tide rises,
suggesting the season,
stealing the stairs.
I sit in competition
with the horizon,
wondering which of us
blinks first.
Remembering the anniversary
of my grandmother’s death
to be eight or nine years ago,
yesterday.
On that last day
she struggled out of bed,
laughing at the difficulty.
My grandfather
helped the tanker ships
retire from the lake,
until the ice breaks.

The tide recedes,
suggesting the season,
returning the stairs.
I think of you
rather than sleep,
ignoring my eyes
and the moth at the screen.
A stranger with your voice
laughs on the beach,
staggering into the water,
hurrying back out.
Eventually I dream,
within it you write to me.
In the caverns of the fantasy,
the landscape blinked.
The light at its farthest reach
sank into the sea,
and we laughed at the difficulty.


Source: The author, 2021

Cole McInerney is a poet from Niagara Falls, Ontario. He studied English at Toronto Metropolitan University. Currently, he is a MFA student at the University of South Carolina, studying poetry. His poems have been published in several print and online publications, including Feral Poetry, White Wall Review, The Bookends Review, and Echolocation Magazine.

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See all of Cole McInerney’s poems on the Niagara Falls Poetry Project website:

•     The Buildings of the Dream
•     Convenient Corner
•     Lake Erie
•     Russell Street