Tag: legends
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A Legend of the Whirlpool by James Fenimore Cooper
‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡PART I. “Ih wakchohenry hah nakahneshthean habthohy ehean hancteayouth wench heahnahreawachereahheank.” — Tuscarora’s idiom of the Iroquois. The same in English from the book of David Cusic, a Tuscaroran Indian, published in 1827. “I found the history mixed with fables. “ ‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡I. In truth thou art a fearful place, ‡‡‡‡Who shall thy depths explore ? Who’ll pass upon thy fluctuant waves, ‡‡‡‡For mines of golden ore ; From far above impetuously, ‡‡‡‡The raging waters sweep, They come in their sublimity, ‡‡‡‡Descending, leap o’er leap. ‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡II. In wrath and foam they rush along, ‡‡‡‡Through caverned rocks they flow, And high towards the mirrored skies, ‡‡‡‡The feathery mist they throw. Their noise is the wild tempest’s voice, ‡‡‡‡When whirlwinds sweep the shore, And far abroad the sound is heard, ‡‡‡‡Like ocean’s hollow roar. ‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡III. Trembling, the neighb’ring hills vibrate, ‡‡‡‡And the impending rocks, Shake in their holds, as from the jars ‡‡‡‡Of far off earthquake shocks. And when less loud Niagara’s Fall ‡‡‡‡Its distant echoes bound, Then wide, the thund’ring roll is spread ‡‡‡‡The Whirlpool’s ceaseless sound. ‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡IV. Through earth’s domain a scene more grand, ‡‡‡‡Is no where to be found. For in one narrow compass rush, ‡‡‡‡Waters that empire’s bound. A thousand lakes and rivers deep, ‡‡‡‡Unite their powerful force, Concentrate through the gorge they plunge, ‡‡‡‡Their headlong, downward course. ‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡V. Though the Maelstrom’s dread abyss ‡‡‡‡No mariner will near ; Though Plegethon roared fierce and loud, ‡‡‡‡Their terrors all are here. Not mightier is the Cataract, ‡‡‡‡With rainbow, mist and cloud, Whose snowy sheets hang in the air, ‡‡‡‡And massive rocks enshroud. ‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡VI.…
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Niagara Falls by Rev. Roswell Park
Written in remembrance of a visit to Niagara, and Queenstown ; April 20, 1827. “Niagara rolls on. The faithless wave, That tore the Indian from his gentle cove, Is smooth and bright as silver. Nothing speaks Of last night’s rain : and now the rainbow smiles, And the white gull flaps through its orange light ; And the eternal roaring of the Falls Goes on the same. Wild Indian, farewell ! Thou wert a brother, and thy dying bed Was the white lashing spray ;— thy only knell The Rapid’s thunder ;—and the deep, deep gulf Thy sunless sepulchre !” — J. R. ORTON. THE sun shone brightly o’er me as I stood And gazed upon Niagara’s swelling flood ;— Whose waters, springing from a distant source, Through ages past have sped their solemn course ; Then rushing downward, o’er the lofty rock, Have made the mountains tremble with their shock ; Till flowing on majestical and free, They join’d afar the bosom of the sea. Between rich plains, extending far around, And gentle hills with verdant foliage crown’d, Whose sloping sides grow dim in distant blue, Niagara river steals upon the view. Then winding slow the current glides along Its fertile isles and sunny banks among, Till soon it meets a rough and rocky bed, And o’er the rapids dashes on with speed ;— Sinks in the hollows, swells and sinks again, And rolls its billows like the raging main :— Now the huge breakers raise it to the skies, Whirlpools revolve, and foaming mountains rise. New floods behind, the waves before them urge, Approaching nearer to the giddy verge ; Till a fair isle the mighty current braves, And with its front divides the yielding waves. On either side the mighty waters roll, And ceaseless hurry to the frightful goal ; Then from the lofty rocks with awful sound Fall headlong downward to the vast profound,— Speed to the bottom, swell the deeps below,— Rise to the surface, boiling as they flow ;— In eddying circles vent their angry force ;— Then join the current and pursue their course. Here on the brow the sea-green flood rolls by, Reflecting all the brightness of the sky, While piles of foam, the cataract beneath, Hang o’er the rocks and round the billows wreathe. There, as the falling torrent meets the air, White foaming fleeces down the chasm appear ; And the bright rainbow through the misty spray, Shines in the sun and gilds the face of day.…
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The Screaming Tunnels by Amanda Tulk
screaming Legend says her clothes were burning bright As she ran in the flames into the ebony night Screaming for the heat to subside Awakening the neighbors they couldn’t believe their eyes For that scared little girl, years later they did cry Many years later The screams still heard Some say the legend is absurd…