 | Poems |  |
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NIAGARA.
Has aught like this descended, since the fountains
Of the Great Deep broke up, in cataracts hurled,
And climbing lofty hills, eternal mountains,
Poured wave on wave above a buried world?
Of the Great Deep broke up, in cataracts hurled,
And climbing lofty hills, eternal mountains,
Poured wave on wave above a buried world?
Yon tides are raging, as when storms have striven,
And the vexed seas awaking from their sleep,
Are rough with foam, and Neptune's flocks are driven
In myriads o'er the green and azure deep.
And the vexed seas awaking from their sleep,
Are rough with foam, and Neptune's flocks are driven
In myriads o'er the green and azure deep.
Ere yet they fall, mark (where that mighty current
Comes like an army from its mountain home,)
How fiercely yon wild steeds amid the torrent,
With their dark flanks, and manes and crests of foam,
Comes like an army from its mountain home,)
How fiercely yon wild steeds amid the torrent,
With their dark flanks, and manes and crests of foam,
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Speed to their doom—yet in the awful centre,
Where the wild waves rush madliest to the steep,
Just ere that white unfathomed gulf they enter,
Rear back in horror from the headlong leap.
Where the wild waves rush madliest to the steep,
Just ere that white unfathomed gulf they enter,
Rear back in horror from the headlong leap.
Then maddening, plunge—a thousand more succeeding
Sweep onward, troop on troop, again to urge
The same fierce flight, as rapid and unheeding—
Again to pause in terror on the verge.
Sweep onward, troop on troop, again to urge
The same fierce flight, as rapid and unheeding—
Again to pause in terror on the verge.
And near the brink, amid that ceaseless roar,
An emerald islet gleams above the surf;
No bark hath landed on its sunny shore—
No human foot hath ever pressed its turf—
An emerald islet gleams above the surf;
No bark hath landed on its sunny shore—
No human foot hath ever pressed its turf—
Like that sweet spot we seem so oft discerning,
That haunts the voyager through Life's desert plain,
To which our souls are ever fondly turning,
Forever near us—and forever vain.
That haunts the voyager through Life's desert plain,
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Forever near us—and forever vain.
What tongue hath told—what page hath kept thy history,
Dark flood that hurriest Ocean's tide to meet!
What eye hath dared to penetrate the mystery
That shrouds thine inaccessible retreat?
Dark flood that hurriest Ocean's tide to meet!
What eye hath dared to penetrate the mystery
That shrouds thine inaccessible retreat?
To chronicle thine age, the toil severe,
The boasted scrutinies of Science fail—
Conjecture's busy tongue is silent here—
And Old Tradition hath forgot the tale.
The boasted scrutinies of Science fail—
Conjecture's busy tongue is silent here—
And Old Tradition hath forgot the tale.
Perchance upon this wondrous ledge
(benighted
And wandering eastward through the forest brown,)
Behemoth paused—and straight drew back affrighted,
Lest his vast weight should crush the rampart down.
And wandering eastward through the forest brown,)
Behemoth paused—and straight drew back affrighted,
Lest his vast weight should crush the rampart down.
There still it stands, as in his day, save where
Yon fallen fragment lies in wrecks below;
That monotone sublime yet fills the air,
And still these waters roll in endless flow.
Yon fallen fragment lies in wrecks below;
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And still these waters roll in endless flow.
Oft to an eye half closed, as if in solving
Some mighty, mystic problem—half it seems
Like some vast crystal wheel, ever revolving,
Whose motion, earth's—whose axle, earth's extremes.
Some mighty, mystic problem—half it seems
Like some vast crystal wheel, ever revolving,
Whose motion, earth's—whose axle, earth's extremes.
We gaze and gaze, half lost in dreamy pleasure,
On all that slow majestic wave reveals,
While Fancy idly, vainly strives to measure
How vast the cavern which its veil conceals.
On all that slow majestic wave reveals,
While Fancy idly, vainly strives to measure
How vast the cavern which its veil conceals.
The Sea-Kings never revelled in a Hall
More gorgeous—more magnificent than this:
Earth holds the deep foundations of thy wall,
And falling oceans curtain thine abyss.
More gorgeous—more magnificent than this:
Earth holds the deep foundations of thy wall,
And falling oceans curtain thine abyss.
Beneath its vaulted roof and architrave,
The spirit of each Element might reign
Enthroned—or wandering through the sullen cave,
Roam o'er thy drear and Chaos-like domain.
The spirit of each Element might reign
Enthroned—or wandering through the sullen cave,
Roam o'er thy drear and Chaos-like domain.
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The Sea-nymphs there might make their loneliest dwelling,
Or the fierce brethren of the troubled Air,
Whose blasts around thy vestibule are swelling —
And the mine-haunting gnomes might revel there.
Or the fierce brethren of the troubled Air,
Whose blasts around thy vestibule are swelling —
And the mine-haunting gnomes might revel there.
All, save the Demon throned on caverned fires,
In the volcano's arched and lurid hall,
Who from thee far and sullenly retires—
Lest his bright realms to sudden ruin fall:
In the volcano's arched and lurid hall,
Who from thee far and sullenly retires—
Lest his bright realms to sudden ruin fall:
Lest all should perish—even his proudest palace
'Neath red Stromboli—Etna's glowing veins—
One icy wave from thine o'erflowing chalice,
And but a cold and blackened wreck remains.
'Neath red Stromboli—Etna's glowing veins—
One icy wave from thine o'erflowing chalice,
And but a cold and blackened wreck remains.
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Whence come ye, oh wild waters? by what scenes
Of Majesty and Beauty have ye flowed,
In the wide continent that intervenes,
Ere yet ye mingle in this common road?
Of Majesty and Beauty have ye flowed,
In the wide continent that intervenes,
Ere yet ye mingle in this common road?
The Mountain King, upon his Rocky throne,
Laves his broad feet amid your rushing streams,
And many a vale of loveliness unknown
Is softly mirrored in their crystal gleams.
Laves his broad feet amid your rushing streams,
And many a vale of loveliness unknown
Is softly mirrored in their crystal gleams.
They come—from haunts a thousand leagues away,
From ancient mounds, with deserts wide between,
Cliffs, whose tall summits catch the parting day,
And prairies blooming in eternal green;
From ancient mounds, with deserts wide between,
Cliffs, whose tall summits catch the parting day,
And prairies blooming in eternal green;
Yet, the bright valley, and the flower-lit meadow,
And the drear waste of wilderness, all past—
Like that strange Life, of which thou art the shadow,
Must take the inevitable plunge at last.
And the drear waste of wilderness, all past—
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Must take the inevitable plunge at last.
Whither we know not
—but above the wave
A gentle, white-robed spirit sorrowing stands,
Type of the rising from that darker grave,
Which waits the wanderer from Life's weary lands.
A gentle, white-robed spirit sorrowing stands,
Type of the rising from that darker grave,
Which waits the wanderer from Life's weary lands.
How long these wondrous forms—these colors splendid,
Their glory o'er the wilderness have thrown!
How long that mighty anthem has ascended
To him who wakened its eternal tone!
Their glory o'er the wilderness have thrown!
How long that mighty anthem has ascended
To him who wakened its eternal tone!
That everlasting utterance thou shalt raise,
A thousand ages ended, still the same—
When this poor heart, that fain would add its praise,
Has mouldered to the nothing whence it came:
A thousand ages ended, still the same—
When this poor heart, that fain would add its praise,
Has mouldered to the nothing whence it came:
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When the white dwellings of man's busy brood
Now reared in myriads o'er the peopled plain,
Like snows have vanished, and the ancient wood
Shall echo to the eagle's shriek again.
Now reared in myriads o'er the peopled plain,
Like snows have vanished, and the ancient wood
Shall echo to the eagle's shriek again.
And all the restless crowds that now rejoice,
And toil, and traffic, in their eager moods,
Shall pass—and nothing save thine awful voice
Shall break the hush of these vast solitudes.
And toil, and traffic, in their eager moods,
Shall pass—and nothing save thine awful voice
Shall break the hush of these vast solitudes.
June, 1842.
Any one acquainted with the Falls, can hardly have failed to observe, that in the midst of the Great Cataract, from a peculiar formation of the rock, the stream appears to raise itself and recoil at the brink, as if shrinking from the untried and perilous descent into the chasm below.
The traveller seldom encounters a more perfect “tourbillon” of spray and wind, than that which salutes him in passing behind the edge of the sheet, where the fall of water is comparatively light. Owing to the difficulty of the path, and the torrents of air and water which impede his steps, he can penetrate but a short distance—about 100 yards—and the Grand Cavern, which probably extends behind the Central Fall, seems wholly inaccessible.
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