Niagara by George Houghton

  houghton niagara   

houghton niagara
A Distant View of the Falls of Niagara. 1835, by Thomas Cole.  Courtesy of Niagara Falls Public Library.

Formed when the oceans were fashioned, when all the world
‡‡was a workshop;
Loud roared the furnace fires, and tall leapt the smoke
‡‡from volcanoes,
Scooped were round bowls for lakes, and grooves for the
‡‡sliding of rivers,
Whilst, with a cunning hand, the mountains were linked
‡‡together.

Then through the day-dawn, lurid with cloud, and rent
‡‡by forked lightning,
Striken by earthquake beneath, above by the rattle of
‡‡thunder,
Sudden the clamour was pierced by a voice, deep-lunged
‡‡and portentous —
Thine, O Niagara, crying: “Now is created completed!”

‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡‡II.

Millions of cup-like blossoms, brimming with dew and with
‡‡rain-drops,
Mingle their tributes together to form one slow-trickling
‡‡brooklet;
Thousands of brooklets and rills, leaping down from their
‡‡home in the uplands,
Grow to a smooth, blue river, serene and flowing in
‡‡silence.

Hundreds of smooth, blue rivers, flashing afar o’er the
‡‡prairies,
Darkening ‘neath forests of pine, deep drowning the reeds
‡‡in the marshes,
Cleaving with noiseless sledge the rocks red-crusted with
‡‡copper,
Circle at last to one common goal, the Mighty Sea-Water.

Lo! to the northward outlying, wide glimmers the stretch
‡‡of the Great Lake,
White-capped and sprinkled with foam, that tumbles its
‡‡bellowing breakers
Landward on beaches of sand, and in hiding-holes hollow
‡‡with thunder,
Landward where plovers frequent, with the wolf and the
‡‡westering bison.    Continue reading “Niagara by George Houghton”

The Whirlpool of Niagara River Viewed on a Sabbath Morning by Susan Hill Todd

sabbath
Early View of the Niagara River Whirlpool, from a Copper Negative. Photo Courtesy of Niagara Falls Public Library
“It was a Sabbath of the Soul”;
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

Great Cataract Sublime by Rich Roach

great cataract sublime
Aerial view of the Niagara River Whirlpool and Rapids. Photograph by Andrew Porteus
Niagara Falls, great cataract sublime,
    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.

Niagara by Arthur William Fisher

Niagara by Arthur William Fisher
Portrait of Arthur William Fisher
                        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. 
 Continue reading "Niagara  by Arthur William Fisher" 

The Niagara Gorge (as seen from the Whirlpool Cable Car) by Father James B. Dollard

Spanish Aero-Car (photo courtesy of Niagara Falls Public Library)
Had Dante ever seen this prodigy,
This monstrous monument of Nature's wrath,
Then had he found new terrors to surround
The entrance to Inferno.  At the gate
A power invisible becomes our guide,
And our smooth car swings into the Abime.

The evening shades have fallen and a cloud,
Huge, threatening, and amorphous settles down,
Bridging the gulf. Lo! now assails our ears,
The hissing tumult of the floods that dash,
Writhing in agony, 'twixt iron walls,
O'er rude and tortuous beds!

        The uproar grows,
And the pent waters churning into foam,
Round adamantine boulders, scream aloud,
Till maddened past all bound, they end the note
In maniac glee!

        Above and all about,
Colossal cliffs their lithic brows uplift,
To the grim skies, and horror reigns supreme!
"Release!" "Release!" the torn waves howl beneath --
"Give us release!" -- and the harsh cliffs reply,
With mocking echoes -- their eroded breasts,
Gargantuan laughter shakes.

        And now our car
Leaves the dread scene, and up the wall's sheer side,
Climbs, groaning with vast effort, till we view,
From perilous height the black gulf far below,
And quake to ponder plunging down so steep,
To dire destruction!

        All at once there opes
A rocky portal, and we breathe relief,
For, lo! the streets, the windows, and the lights!
The newsboys' cries, the clatter of the town!

Source: Rev. James B. Dollard. Poems. Toronto: The Catholic Church Extension Society of Canada, 1910.

About Father Dollard