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.
muldoon
Which is known as the ‘Orchard County’?
Which as the ‘Garden State’?
Which captain of the Bounty
was set adrift by his mate?
Who cooked and ate an omelette
midway across Niagara Falls?
Where did Setanta get
those magical hurley balls
he ram-stammed down the throat
of the blacksmith’s hound?
Why would a Greek philosopher of note
refuse to be bound
by convention but live in a tub
from which he might overhear,
as he went to rub
an apple on his sleeve, the mutineers
plotting to seize the Maid of the Mist
while it was still half able to forge
ahead and make half a fist
of crossing the Niagara gorge,
the tub in which he might light a stove
and fold in the beaten
eggs into themselves? Who unearthed the egg-trove?
And who, having eaten
the omelette, would marvel at how the Mounties
had so quickly closed in on him, late
of the ‘Orchard County’
by way of the ‘Garden State’?
Source: http://www.princeton.edu/almagest/courseware/public/catechism/poemstart.html
moberly
In Lundy‘s Lane the robins sing,
‡‡And blackbirds pipe their merry lay,
The sparrow flits on restless wing,
‡‡The air is sweet with new mown hay.
O‘er the grassy mound by the old church wall
‡‡The summer breezes gently stray,
They stir the leaves of the maples tall,
‡‡And mingle with the sunbeams‘ play.
‘Tis a scene of peace and beauty fair,
‡‡That greets the happy passer-by,
As he breathes the balmy summer air,
‡‡And gladly looks on earth and sky.
But o‘er this fair and peaceful scene
‡‡One hundred years have come and gone,
And where the grass grows rich and green
‡‡The dead lay thick with faces wan.
Up from the mighty river‘s gorge
‡‡In serried ranks the foeman came,
The air grew murky as a forge,
‡‡With cannon smoke and musket flame.
Outnumbered nearly two to one,
‡‡The gallant Drummond stood at bay,
Undaunted he — and with him none —
‡‡Unworthy of that glorious day.
For loyal sons of loyal sires,
‡‡They fought for home and motherland;
No purer love the heart inspires
‡‡Than glow‘d within that patriot band.
Now hast‘ning up the river bank,
‡‡Cheered on by Scott at Brown‘s command,
The foemen form, and rank on rank,
‡‡A threatening army they expand.
The word is given — then, on they rush,
‡‡‘Mid cannon roar and musket flame,
Like avalanche‘s fearful crush,
‡‡Ah! What can balk their deadly aim?
But hark! a rousing British cheer!
‡‡Cheer such as thrill‘d at Waterloo —
The cheer of men who know no fear
‡‡Save to be recreant or untrue. Continue reading “Lundy’s Lane — 1814-1914 (July 25) by T. E. Moberly”
porter goat 2
Great Fall, all hail:
Canst thou unveil
The secrets of thy birth;
Unfold the page
Of each dark age,
And tell the tales of earth?
When I was born
The stars of morn
Together sang — ’twas day:’
The sun unrolled
His garb of gold
And took his upward way.
He mounted high
The eastern sky
And then looked down on earth;
And she was there,
Young, fresh, and fair,
And I, and all, had birth.
The word of power
Was spoke that hour:
Dark chaos felt the shock;
Forth sprung the light,
Burst day from night,
Up leaped the living rock.
Back fell the sea
The land was free,
And mountain, hill, and plain
Stood forth to view,
In emerald hue,—
Then sang the stars amain.
And I —oh thou:
Who taught me how
To hymn thy wondrous love
Deign to be near
And calm my fear,
O Holy one above.
I caught the word
Creation heard,
And by thy power arose;
His goodness gave
The swelling wave
That ever onward flows.
By his command
The rainbow spanned
My forehead and his will
Evoked the cloud
My feet to shroud,
And taught my voice to trill.
And who is he
That questions me ?
From whom hast thou thy form,
Thy life, thy soul ?
My waters roll
Through day, night, sunshine, storm.
In grateful praise
To him, I raise
A never ceasing song
To that dread one,
To whom stars, sun,
Earth, ocean, all belong.
Thou too adore
Him ever more
Who gave thou all thou hast;
Let time gone by
In darkness die
Deep buried in the past.
And be thy mind
To him inclined
Who made earth, ‘heaven and thee—
Thy every thought
To worship wrought,—
This lesson learn of me.
Source: Peter Augustus Porter. Goat Island, 1900
Written after a moonlight ramble on Drummond’s Hill, U.C., the scene of that bloody action, fought July 25, 1814, where New Hampshire valor shone conspicuously.
In other days yon fatal hill,
Glittered with arms and waved with plumes,
When the sad sunset on their steel,
Flashed its last splendors; even’s glooms
Rang with the bugles’s martial breath
That called the brave to deeds of death.
Then the dismal cry of slaughter
Broke on midnight’s slumbering hour;
And the parched ground drank blood like water,
As beneath a deadly shower
Of musket and artillery,
With motto calm yet bold, “I’LL TRY,”
The bristling ranks move on,
Mid deafening thunder, sulphurous flash,
And shouts, and groans, and forests’ crash,
Till hark! the sharp, clear bayonet’s clash,
Tells that the work is done.
There deeds of deathless praise proclaim,
How rolled War’s tide when RIPLEY’s name
Swelled the wild shout of victory;
And dauntless Miller and McNeil
Led foremost, in the strife of steel,
The flower of northern chivalry;
While Scott from British brows then tore
The laurels dyed in Gallic gore.
But these terrific scenes are past;
The peasants’ slumbers, the wild blast
Alone shall break them,
And those proud bannered hosts are gone,
Where the shrill trumpet’s charging tone
No more may wake them.
Time in his flight has swept away,
Each vestige of the battle fray,
Save that the traveller views around,
The shattered oak — the grass-grown mound
That shrines a hero’s ashes!
Peace to the brave! around their stone
Shall Freedom twine her rosy wreath,
And, though with moss of year’s o’ergrown,
Fame shall applaud their glorious death,
Long as Niagara dashes!
Source: Charles James Fox, ed. The New Hampshire Book, Being Specimens of the Literature of the Granite State. Nashville: C.T. Gill, 1844.
Caleb Stark was born in Dumbarton, New Hampshire on November 21, 1804 and took up residence in his birthplace. Stark was a lawyer, historian, and member of the New Hampshire State Senate, and died in 1864.