Poetry of and about Niagara Falls & the Niagara River – the waterfalls, the city, the history, the stunters, and everything else Niagara
lovers leaps
If Lovers‘ Leaps were now the fashion,
‡‡‡‡As they were in days of yore,
O what a place to drown the passion
‡‡‡‡In Niagara‘s foaming roar.
Source: Table Rock Album and Sketches of the Falls and Scenery Adjacent. Buffalo: Steam Press of Thomas and Lathrops, copyright by Jewett, Thomas & Co.,1856c.1848
This link takes you to the scanned version of the 1855 version of Table Rock Album from the Hathi Trust
See the Table of Contents of the Table Rock Album on this site.
I heard the distant cataract roll
Its choral anthem high,
Whilst from the forest’s deep repose
A breath of mingled fragrance rose,
Like incense to the sky.
Its azure dome was o’er my head,
The green leaves started at my tread,
As if disturbed in prayer;
‘T was nature’s worship — we alone
Could jar its harp-strings — not a tone
But breathed in concert there.
I saw, below my verdant seat,
The swift Niagara at my feet,
As in a prison bound;
A rocky bed, with graceful bend
And narrow outlets at each end,
Encircled it around.
While the proud rapids seem to pause
Indignantly to view the cause
Of their unwont delay —
In solemn majesty, they turned,
Lingering, as if themselves they spurned,
In durance thus to stay.
In circling eddies round and round,
I saw the careless driftwood bound,
And watched it on its way,
Borne gayly on the rapids’ crest,
Till on the water-giant’s breast,
The passive victim lay.
Within the whirlpool’s false embrace,
Condemned with never-ceasing pace
Their aimless course to run,
Without a hope or goal in view,
An endless journey to pursue,
Beginning, never done.
Yet viewlessly these links confine,
Brighter than diamond sparks they shine,
And merrily they flow,
Whilst each fair shore stands smiling by,
And still the dancing waters fly,
To music, as they go.
And then I felt like one who dreams,
And all his airy visions deems
Realities of life;
The senseless logs like men were seen, —
A metamorphosis, I ween,
Not much with truth at strife.
For is not human life a stream,
Whose rapids (cares and pleasures) seem
To us but infant’s play,
Till, into passion’s current hurled,
Amid its restless vortex whirled,
We chase the hours away?
What are the chains the hands have wrought?
The strongest chain is made of thought,
The poet said of yore;
Spellbound by habit, thus we see,
The ocean of eternity,
Yet seek its bliss no more.
O would we nature’s lessons read,
And draw our pure, exalted creed
From her celestial lore,
All earth would then be hallowed ground,
In every stream some virtue found
The spirit’s woes to cure.
Source: Myron T. Pritchard, comp. Poetry of Niagara. Boston: Lothrop Publishing Co., 1901.
Originally published in Susan Hill Todd’s Occasional Poems: a New Year’s Offering. Boston: W. Crosby and H. P. Nichols, 1851
Whose mists, like dragons, curl against the sky;
O thund’ring god, whose movement over time
Has gouged a mile-wide path, where seagulls fly
And trace your giant steps, each twist and turn,
Down yawning gorge to where the whirlpool boils
Beneath the dancing rapids — wild they churn,
Twisting, as round great rocks the river coils —
Why now the tears? The thousand voices sighing?
Do you not hear the reverent silence? Awe
And fear upon each frozen tongue? The dying
Exhalations of spirits, which, like straw
Before the winds, are strewn to airy silence?
You hear, you see, with pity not defiance.
Source: The author, 2001.
From lake to lake,
the Niagara River flows
it rolls and rolls
and wanders
skirting the shores, the towns
villages and cities, hurriedly
embracing the green isles
before finally the River
races towards the Falls
Skipping over rocks and whipping up rapids
it digs and dives. A mountain of
water in majestic emerald green,
a sight and sound
unseen, anywhere in this world;
deep down the Falls
it falls … then
roars up in mystical clouds
like a unicorn
with a rainbow as crown.
With proud hurry the noble Niagara
wanders on and on
under the bridges
which arch in glory
carrying traffic and people
of every race and nation
back and forth
back and forth.
But the old Niagara goes on as it did for eons,
carrying the seeds and scents
from its flowering shores
and clamouring with pride
a great and courageous past
silently saluting the landmarks
where still the spirits linger.
And the blue Niagara River
goes on as ever
drawing Whirlpools as if marking
the sacred spots as to remember
where our heroes fell, and
solemn vows were made
holy alliances pledged
and often as not were betrayed.
Then the mighty Niagara rushes on
running head on in a cul-de-sac
white gray forbidding rocks
are hovering high up
walling up its road, forcing it
to the right, taking its power
where it is reined, stored
and scientifically divided.
But now that Niagara, that powerful river
smiles and spreads calmly out
like a kind mother her skirts
to hold more in her lap.
In silence the white sailed boats
come criss-crossing up the blue river
to escort it with dignity and grace
to Ontario’s glorious lake.
Source: Grol, Lini, ed. by Kevin McCabe and Lynne Prunskus. Lake to Lake: Lini Grol’s Niagara. St. Catharines: Blarney Stone Books, c2000.
I
NIAGARA, how charms thy name
Resounding from thy high walled sheer!
How sweet thy water's far acclaim
That bursts upon my pricking ear!
How beams my eye with kindling flame
As to thy presence I draw near,
Where beautied grandure's falling swell
Weaves still time's awful, mystic spell!
I gaze at thee from nearest shore,
Close by the impending brink,
In wonder at thy fearful pour
Of waters, til, amazèd more
Than I can tell or think,
I only see thy mist's fine shower
That wafts upon these walls,
And vision dim that mighty Power,
The Great Spirit of the Falls.
II
But lo ! up stream, in fitful dream,
The rolling, rumbling rapids roar,
And toss and tilt and turn and teem,
And gurgle in their cascades' gleam
From isle to isle and isle to shore;
And oft repeat the dazzling feat,
Display their leaping wonders more,
Rush round the rocks with flaring locks,
Lead as bellweathers do their flocks,
While through their tree-trimmed way they pour,
These bounding waters, fleet, more fleet,
To gather in one onward rush
Adown their troubled, rocky bed,
And struggle, straggle, gurgle, gush,
To follow where their leaders led;
But panting now for breath,
They stagger to the edge
Of overhanging ledge,
Fearing the plunge beneath;
When forth in foam their fellows come,
Cheering and jeering the faltering and fearing,
Till onto the precipice they rush with a roar,
Exulting and leaping, as comrades before;
Yet staring, stumbling, crashing, crumbling,
As host with host o'erpowering,
Each glistening wight of air commingled,
They fall in gulf devouring;
Or, flaring, flashing, darting, dashing,
To break as gleaming snow,
While splitting, splashing, gnawing, gnashing
Upon the rocks below;
Whence o'er the heights their spirits towering,
Sweeping, swaying, rising, lowering,
Rejoin the ceaseless flow,
That with recurring, falling shock,
Born on the wind's bluff blast,
Wears e'er amain the shelving rock,
And undermines aghast.
There as by mighty hand,
A cavern forms, carved by the storms
Of vexed spray's pelting wave;
And in that rocky cave
Rough columns stand with altar grand;
While fittingly conforms
The spray-worn dome and bowlder pave,
Round which reëcho e'er a stave
Of wailing wind's weird band;
And there before the cavern door,
Attended with intoning roar,
E'er falls the Bridal Veil
And sweeps the filmy rail,
Which now through Bridal Hall are fanned,
Now screen that Wind's Cave from the land.
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