This is a 96 page, book-length poem about John, from Rhode Island, who takes a trip first to New York City and then to Niagara Falls by boat and train. His romantic encounters are described, as well as the adventures he has in Niagara Falls with hackmen, swindlers, and hustlers. At the same time, he is impressed with the natural beauty of the Falls.
Read the full poem at Hathi Trust
Citation: Barlow, John R. John’s Trip, or a Visit to Niagara. A Serio-Comic Poem in Four Cantos. Niagara Falls: William Pool, Printer, 1871
Rendezvous Motel & Restaurant, 3611 Lundy’s Lane, Highway 3a & 20, Niagara Falls, Canada. Image courtesy of Niagara Falls Public Library
In the town where I was born, we’d walk up Lundy’s Lane And talk about the dreams we had. Life was a glass of ginger ale and a juke box serenade, And we never thought of growing old. Yes, I know those days have come and gone Still I think about my old home town.
At a place called the Rendezvous, we’d congregate at eight And talk about the baseball game. Lights flashing on the window pane, watching cars go up the lane, We’d wait for friends and lovers. Yes, I know those days have come and gone Still I think about my old home town.
Lavender mist makes a foggy night haze While the falls come crashing ahead. And I lean on the rail feel the damp cooling spray Watching the foam turn a luminous maze.
And as I drive towards the town, the neon signs flash on And thoughts begin to fill my head. Oh the happiness I found, in my family’s old home town Where nothing seemed to ever change. Life was very simple, way back then And we thought that it would never end.
When our dreams of long ago were scattered on the way And our childish hopes departed. Life went on but not the same, we grew up, we’re not to blame, And those magic times forgotten. Life was very simple, way back then And we thought that it would never end.
Source: Niagara Falls (Ontario). Coronation Centre Newsletter, 1974
Narushima Ryūhoku published in book Ryuhoku Ikou, 1892
The startled traveler wakes to the thunder by his pillow,
rises and climbs among old trees to the roaring brink:
in the deep night, heaven and earth one vista of white;
the moon comes, parting the mile-high curtain of pearls.
Translated by Burton Watson
Source: Watson, Burton (tr.). Japanese Literature in Chinese, vol. 2: Poetry & Prose in Chinese by Japanese Writers of the Later Period. New York: Columbia University Press, 1976
Who does not know that dreadful gulf, where Niagara falls,
Where eagle unto eagle screams, to vulture vulture calls;
Where down beneath, Despair and Death in liquid darkness grope,
And upward, on the foam there shines a rainbow without Hope;
While, hung with clouds of Fear and Doubt, the unreturning wave
Suddenly gives an awful plunge, like life into the grave;
And many a hapless mortal there hath dived to bale or bliss;
One—only one—hath ever lived to rise from that abyss!
Oh, Heav’n! it turns me now to ice, with chill of fear extreme,
To think of my frail bark adrift on that tumultuous stream!
In vain with desperate sinews, strung by love of life and light,
I urged that coffin, my canoe, against the current’s might:
On—on—still on—direct for doom, the river rush’d in force,
And fearfully the stream of Time raced with it in its course.
My eyes I closed—I dared not look the way towards the goal;
But still I view’d the horrid close, and dreamt it in my soul.
Plainly, as through transparent lids, I saw the fleeting shore,
And lofty trees, like winged things, flit by for evermore;
Plainly,—but with no prophet sense—I heard the sullen sound,
The torrent’s voice—and felt the mist, like death-sweat gathering round.
O agony! O life! My home! and those that made it sweet:
Ere I could pray, the torrent lay beneath my very feet.
With frightful whirl, more swift than thought, I passed the dizzy edge,
Bound after bound, with hideous bruise, I dashed from ledge to ledge,
From crag to crag,—in speechless pain,—from midnight deep to deep;
I did not die,—but anguish stunn’d my senses into sleep.
How long entranced, or whither dived, no clue I have to find:
At last the gradual light of life came dawning o’er my mind;
And through my brain there thrill’d a cry,—a cry as shrill as birds’
Of vulture or of eagle kind, but this was set to words:—
‘It’s Edgar Huntley in his cap and nightgown, I declares!
He’s been a walking in his sleep, and pitch’d all down the stairs!’
Edgar Huntly, Or, Memoirs of a Sleepwalker is a 1799 novel by the American author Charles Brockden Brown that was popular at the time this poem was written.
Source: Thomas Hood. The Works of Thomas Hood: Comic, in Prose and Verse, with all the Original Illustrations. vol. 1. London: Ward, Lock & Co., 1882
Annie Taylor, “Queen of the Mist,” posing with the cat, “The King of the Mist,” and the barrel used to go over Niagara Falls. Image courtesy of Niagara Falls Public Library
Annie Edson Taylor
Wanted to be first over the falls
A school teacher from New York
She was gonna’ show them all
She had a custom barrel made
But first tested it on a cat
The poor thing plunged over the falls
It had no say, cause that was that
Luckily the cat emerged
A little tattered but still alive
So on her 63rd birthday, 1901
Ms. Taylor, finally took her dive
They called her Queen of the Mist
Queen of the Mist
The first to conquer the falls
But in real actuality
The cat deserved it all
The glory, the title, the award for the first
The cat deserves it all
Cause the Queen of the Mist, the Queen of the Mist
