To Niagara by J. S. Buckingham

(written at the first sight of its falls, August 13, 1838)

Hail! Sovereign of the world of floods! whose majesty and might
First dazzles, then enraptures, then o’erawes the aching sight:
The pomp of kings and emperors, in every clime and zone,
Grows dim beneath the splendour of thy glorious watery throne.

No fleets can stop thy progress, no armies bid thee stay,
But onward, — onward, — onward, — thy march still holds its way;
The rising mists that veil thee as thy heralds go before,
And the music that proclaims thee is the thund’ring cataract’s roar.

Thy diadem’s an emerald, of the clearest, purest hue,
Set round with waves of snow-white foam, and spray of feathery dew;
While tresses of the brightest pearls float o’er thine ample sheet,
And the rainbow lays its gorgeous gems in tribute at thy feet.

Thy reign is from the ancient days, thy sceptre from on high;
Thy birth was when the distant stars first lit the glowing sky;
The sun, the moon, and all the orbs that shine upon thee now,
Beheld the wreath of glory which first bound thine infant brow.

And from that hour to this, in which I gaze upon thy stream,
From age to age, in Winter’s frost or Summer’s sultry beam,
By day, by night, without a pause, thy waves, with loud acclaim,
In ceaseless sounds have still proclaim’d the Great Eternal’s name.

For whether, on thy forest banks, the Indian of the wood,
Or, since his day, the red man’s foe on his fatherland has stood;
Whoe’er has seen thine incense rise, or heard thy torrents roar,
Must have knelt before the God of all, to worship and adore.

Accept, then, O Supremely Great! O Infinite! O God!
From this primeval altar, the green and virgin sod,
The humble homage that my soul in gratitude would pay
To Thee whose shield has guarded me through all my wandering way.

For if the ocean be as nought in the hollow of thine hand,
And the stars of the bright firmament in thy balance grains of sand;
If Niagara’s rolling flood seems great to us who humbly bow,
O Great Creator of the Whole, how passing great art Thou!

But though thy power is far more vast than finite mind can scan,
Thy mercy is still greater shown to weak, dependent man:
For him thou cloth’st the fertile globe with herbs, and fruit, and seed;
For him the seas, the lakes, the streams, supply his hourly need.

Around, on high, or far, or near, the universal whole
Proclaims thy glory, as the orbs in their fixed courses roll;
And from creation’s grateful voice the hymn ascends above,
While heaven re-echoes back to earth the chorus – “God is love.”

Source: The Falls of Niagara. Toronto: James Campbell, 1859.

The text and punctuation from the 1859 book differs in a number of places from the handbill text.

Also published in Hulett, T.G. Every Man His Own Guide to the Falls of Niagara. 5th ed. Buffalo: Faxon & Co., 1845

Also published in Johnson, Richard L. (ed). Niagara: Its History, Incidents and Poetry. Washington: Walter Neale General Book Publisher, 1898

Read about James Silk Buckingham

Looking for Niagara by E. R. Baxter III

It’s Niagara lost
in the 20th century, disappeared
from the cereal box, up in mist,
a canvas backdrop in one hundred thousand
dead photographs, fading from postcards,
gone to Bermuda, Disney World, flown
to Aruba, splish took a bath at Niagara
splash went to Vegas for the weekend—
but had room at the motel
for Joseph and Marilyn
and were they impressed?
There’s no record of it.

But the first human record at Niagara
before it had name–the first human at ?
who left a flint spear point, water
falling at the whirlpool then,
at old gorge, and the spear point:
dropped in fear, in awe,
in wonder at new water,
ice falling who thought of it as !

Wandering hunter, archaeologists say, who
if he were there at all, didn’t stay long,
as if he had, for months let’s say, they’d
have known—would have found the tree
against which he relieved himself,
charcoal trace on stone, where he
cooked fish—as if no Niagara rock
has been left unturned.

The most recent evidence indicates he
did stay but a brief time—only minutes—
that dizzy from spoiled fish innards
he stumbled out of the woods
toward thunder, saw falling water, stared
slack-jawed into mists and steam rising
against south gorge wall, had visions:

The wall exploding, water rushing forth
gnawing south, divers fearful things—
dropped his spear, fled empty-handed
and throwing up back among the trees
and who wouldn’t have?

What he saw: the sun rising and setting
3 million 647 thousand 445 times, ten
thousand winters and springs, trees
leafing out, hot suns, leaves coloring,
withering, dropping, snows whirling,
grass greening, fogs gathering, rains,
trees dying, toppling, new trees as slim
as spears growing thicker than his body,
salamanders mating between his gnarled toes,
mice nibbling algae from his ankles, a wolf
marking territory on his left shin

Continue reading “Looking for Niagara by E. R. Baxter III” →

Niagara by Wallace Bruce

niagara wallace bruce — Illustration from *Wayside Poems*

Proud swaying pendant of a crystal chain,
    On fair Columbia's rich and bounteous breast,
With beaded lakes that necklace-like retain
    Heaven's stainless blue with golden sunlight blest!
What other land can boast a gem so bright!
    With colors born of sun and driven spray - 
A brooch of glory, amulet of might,
    Where all the irised beauties softly stray.
Ay, more - God's living voice, Niagara, thou!
    Proclaiming wide the anthem of the free;
The starry sky the crown upon thy brow,
    Thy ceaseless chant a song of Liberty.
But this thy birthright, this thy sweetest dower,
    Yon arching rainbow - Love still spanning Power.

Source: Wallce Bruce Wayside Poems. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1895
Also published in: Myron T. Pritchard. Poetry of Niagara. Boston: Lothrop Publishing Co., 1901

See the full text of Wayside Poems on archive.org

Avery, 1853 by William Dean Howells

ALL night long they heard in the houses beside the shore,
Heard, or seemed to hear, through the multitudinous roar,
Out of the hell of the rapids as ‘t were a lost soul’s cries, —
Heard and could not believe; and the morning mocked their eyes,
Showing, where wildest and fiercest the waters leaped up and ran
Raving round him and past, the visage of a man
Clinging, or seeming to cling, to the trunk of a tree that, caught
Fast in the rocks below, scarce out of the surges raught.
Was it a life, could it be, to yon slender hope that clung ?
Shrill, above all the tumult the answering terror rung.

II.

Under the weltering rapids a boat from the bridge is drowned,
Over the rocks the lines of another are tangled and wound ;
And the long, fateful hours of the morning have wasted soon,
As it had been in some blessed trance, and now it is noon.
Hurry, now with the raft ! But O, build it strong and stanch,
And to the lines and treacherous rocks look well as you launch!
Over the foamy tops of the waves, and their foam-sprent sides,
Over the hidden reefs, and through the embattled tides,
Onward rushes the raft, with many a lurch and leap,
Lord ! if it strike him loose from the hold he scarce can keep !

No ! through all peril unharmed, it reaches him harmless at last,
And to its proven strength he lashes his weakness fast.
Now, for the shore ! But steady, steady, my men, and slow ;
Taut, now, the quivering lines ; now slack ; and so, let her go !
Thronging the shores around stand the pitying multitude ;
Wan as his own are their looks, and a nightmare seems to brood
Heavy upon them, and heavy the silence hangs on all,
Save for the rapids’ plunge, and the thunder of the fall.
But on a sudden thrills from the people still and pale,
Chorussing his unheard despair, a desperate wail :
Caught on a lurking point of rock it sways and swings,
Sport of the pitiless waters, the raft to which he clings.

III.

All the long afternoon it idly swings and sways ;
And on the shore the crowd lifts up its hands and prays :
Lifts to heaven and wrings the hands so helpless to save,
Prays for the mercy of God on him whom the rock and the wave
Battle for, fettered betwixt them, and who, amidst their strife,
Struggles to help his helpers, and fights so hard for his life, —
Tugging at rope and at reef, while men weep and women swoon.
Priceless second by second, so wastes the afternoon,
And it is sunset now ; and another boat and the last
Down to him from the bridge through the rapids has safely passed.

IV.

Wild through the crowd comes flying a man that nothing can stay,
Maddening against the gate that is locked athwart his way.
“No ! we keep the bridge for them that can help him. You,
Tell us, who are you ? ” “His brother ! ” “God help you both ! Pass through.”
Wild, with wide arms of imploring he calls aloud to him,
Unto the face of his brother, scarce seen in the distance dim ;
But in the roar of the rapids his fluttering words are lost
As in a wind of autumn the leaves of autumn are tossed.
And from the bridge he sees his brother sever the rope
Holding him to the raft, and rise secure in his hope ;
Sees all as in a dream the terrible pageantry, —
Populous shores, the woods, the sky, the birds flying free ;
Sees, then, the form, — that, spent with effort and fasting and fear,
Flings itself feebly and fails of the boat that is lying so near, —
Caught in the long-baffled clutch of the rapids, and rolled and hurled
Headlong on to the cataract’s brink, and out of the world.

Source: William Dean Howells. Poems. Boston: J. R. Osgood and Company, 1873

Also published in Myron T. Pritchard, (comp.) Poetry of Niagara. Boston: Lothrop Publishing Co., 1901.

Also published in Johnson, Richard L. (ed). Niagara: Its History, Incidents and Poetry. Washington: Walter Neale General Book Publisher, 1898

Image courtesy of The Library of Congress

About Joseph Avery

About William Dean Howells

Read the prose poem Platt by James Penha – the story of Avery from the viewpoint of photographer Platt Babbitt

The Fall of Niagara by John G. C. Brainard

brainard

THE thoughts are strange that crowd into my brain
When I look up to thee. It would seem
As if GOD pour’d thee from his “hollow hand,”
And hung his bow upon thine awful front;
And spoke in that loud voice, which seem’d to him
Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour’s sake,
“The sound of many waters;” and had bade
Thy flood to chronicle the ages back,
And notch His cent’ries in the eternal rocks.

Deep calleth unto deep. And what are we,
That hear the question of that voice sublime?
O! what are all the notes that ever rung
From war’s vain trumpet, by thy thundering side!
Yea, what is all the riot that man makes
In his short life, to thy unceasing roar!
And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to HIM
Who drown’d a world, and heap’d the water far
Above its loftiest mountains? — a light wave,
That breaks, and whispers of its Maker’s might

Source: Brainard, John. Poems of John Brainard. Hartford: S. Andrus & Son, 1841

Originally published in the Connecticut Mirror of Hartford, Connecticut

Also in the anthology Fourth Book of Lessons for the Use of Schools. Armour & Ramsey, 1845

Also in the anthology Niagara Mornings by Andrew C. Porteus, 2016.

Also published in Holley, G. W., ed. Niagara: Its History and Geology, Incidents and Poetry. Toronto, Hunter, Rose and Company, 1872

Also published in Johnson, Richard L. (ed). Niagara: Its History, Incidents and Poetry. Washington: Walter Neale General Book Publisher, 1898. Johnson states that “The editor of “Littell’s Living Age” in 1874 pronounced this the finest poem ever written on the subject, yet, strange to say, Mr. Brainard never saw the great cataract.”

Also published in: Holley, George W., ed. The Falls of Niagara. Baltimore: A.C. Armstrong & Son, 1883

Also published in Pritchard, Myron T. , comp. Poetry of Niagara. Boston: Lothrop Publishing Co., 1901.

Tag: poems

To Niagara by J. S. Buckingham

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Looking for Niagara by E. R. Baxter III

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Niagara by Wallace Bruce

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Avery, 1853 by William Dean Howells

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The Fall of Niagara by John G. C. Brainard

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