Chapter 9

Then pour thy broad wave like a flood from the heavens,Each son that thou rearest, in the battle's wild shock,When the death-speaking note of the trumpet is given,Will charge like thy torrent or stand like thy rock.Let his roof be the cloud and the rock be his pillow,Let him stride the rough mountain or toss on the foam,Let him strike fast and well on the field or the billow,In triumph and glory for God and his home!

Let his roof be the cloud and the rock be his pillow,Let him stride the rough mountain or toss on the foam,Let him strike fast and well on the field or the billow,In triumph and glory for God and his home!

Nine years after Drake came Mrs. Sigourney, who, notwithstanding her genuine love of nature and of mankind, her sincerity and occasional genius, was hopelessly of the sentimental school. Like Frances S. Osgood, N. P. Willis and others now lost in even deeper oblivion, she found great favor with her day and generation. Few things from her ever-productive pen had a warmer welcome than the lines beginning:

Up to the table-rock, where the great floodReveals its fullest glory,

and her "Farewell to Niagara," concluding

... it were sweetTo linger here, and be thy worshipper,Until death's footstep broke this dream of life.

Supremely devout in tone, her Niagara poems are commonplace in imagination. Her fancy rarely reaches higher than the perfectly obvious. I confess that I cannot read her lines without a vision of the lady herself standing in rapt attitude on the edge of Table Rock, with note-book in hand and pencil uplifted tocatch the purest inspiration from the scene before her. She is the type of a considerable train of writers whose Niagara effusions leave on the reader's mind little impression beyond an iterated "Oh, thou great Niagara, Oh!" Such a one was Richard Kelsey, whose "Niagara and Other Poems," printed in London in 1848, is likely to be encountered in old London bookshops. I have read Mr. Kelsey's "Niagara" several times. Once when I first secured the handsome gilt-edged volume; again, later on, to discover why I failed to remember any word or thought of it; and again, in the preparation of this paper, that I might justly characterize it. But I am free to confess that beyond a general impression of Parnassian attitudinizing and extravagant apostrophe I get nothing out of its pages. Decidedly better are the lines "On Visiting the Falls of Niagara," by Lord Morpeth, the Earl of Carlisle, who visited Niagara in 1841.[84]He, too, begins with the inevitable apostrophe:

There's nothing great or bright, thou glorious fall!Thou mayst not to the fancy's sense recall—

but he saves himself with a fairly creditable sentiment:

Oh! may the wars that madden in thy deepsThere spend their rage nor climb the encircling steeps,And till the conflict of thy surges ceaseThe nations on thy bank repose in peace.

A British poet who should perhaps have mention inthis connection is Thomas Campbell, whose poem, "The Emigrant," contains an allusion to Niagara. It was published anonymously in 1823 in theNew Monthly Magazine, which Campbell then edited.[85]

No poem on Niagara that I know of is more entitled to our respectful consideration than the elaborate work which was published in 1848 by the Rev. C. H. A. Bulkley of Mt. Morris, N. Y. It is a serious attempt to produce a great poem with Niagara Falls as its theme. Its length—about 3,600 lines—secures to Western New York the palm for elaborate treatment of the cataract in verse. "Much," says the author, "has been written hitherto upon Niagara in fugitive verse, but no attempt like this has been made to present its united wonders as the theme of a single poem. It seems a bold adventure and one too hazardous, because of the greatness of the subject and the obscurity of the bard; but his countrymen are called upon to judge it with impartiality, and pronounce its life or its death. The author would not shrink from criticism.... His object has been, not so much to describe at length the scenery of Niagara in order to excite emotions in the reader similar to those of the beholder, for this would be a vain endeavor, as to give a transcript of what passes through the mind of one who is supposed to witness so grand an achievement of nature. The difficulty," he adds, "with those who visit this wonderful cataract is to give utterance to those feelings andthoughts that crowd within and often, because thus pent up, produce what may be termed the pain of delight."

Of a poem which fills 132 duodecimo pages it is difficult to give a fair idea in a few words. There is an introductory apostrophe, followed by a specific apostrophe to the falls as a vast form of life. Farther on the cataract is apostrophized as a destroyer, as an historian, a warning prophet, an oracle of truth, a tireless laborer. There are many passages descriptive of the islands, the gorge, the whirlpool, etc. Then come more apostrophes to the fall respecting its origin and early life. It is viewed as the presence-chamber of God, and as a proof of Deity. Finally, we have the cataract's hymn to the Creator, and the flood's death-dirge.

No long poem is without its commonplace intervals. Mr. Bulkley's "Niagara" has them to excess, yet as a whole it is the work of a refined and scholarly mind, its imagination hampered by its religious habit, but now and than quickened to lofty flights, and strikingly sustained and noble in its diction. Only a true poet takes such cognizance of initial impulses and relations in nature as this:

In thy hoarse strains is heard the desolate wailOf streams unnumbered wandering far away,From mountain homes where, 'neath the shady rocksTheir parent springs gave them a peaceful birth.

It presents many of the elements of a great poem, reaching the climax in the cataract's hymn to the Creator, beginning

Oh mighty Architect of Nature's home!

At about this period—to be exact, in 1848—there was published in New York City, as a pamphlet or thin booklet, a poem entitled "Niagara," by "A Member of the Ohio Bar," of whose identity I know nothing. It is a composition of some merit, chiefly interesting by reason of its concluding lines:

... Then so live,That when in the last fearful mortal hour,Thy wave, borne on at unexpected speed,O'erhangs the yawning chasm, soon to fall,Thou start not back affrighted, like a youthThat wakes from sleep to find his feeble barkSuspended o'er Niagara, and with shrieksAnd unavailing cries alarms the air,Tossing his hands in frenzied fear a moment,Then borne away forever! But with gazeCalm and serene look through the eddying mists,On Faith's unclouded bow, and take thy plungeAs one whose Father's arms are stretched beneath,Who falls into the bosom of his God!

The close parallelism of these lines with the exalted conclusion of "Thanatopsis" is of course obvious; but they embody a symbolism which is one of the best that has been suggested by Niagara.

From the sublime to the ridiculous was never a shorter descent than in this matter of Niagara poetry. At about the time Mr. Bulkley wrote, and for some years after, it was the pernicious custom to keep public albums at the Table Rock and other points at the falls, for the record of "impressions." Needless tosay, these albums filled up with rubbish. To bad taste was added the iniquity of publication, so that future generations may be acquainted with one of the least creditable of native American literary whims. The editor of one of these albums, issued in 1856, lamented that "the innumerable host of visitors who have perpetrated composition in the volumes of manuscript now before us, should have added so little to the general stock of legitimate and permanent literature"; and he adds—by way seemingly of adequate excuse—that "the actual amount of frivolous nonsense which constitutes so large a portion of the contents ... is not all to be calculated by the specimens now and then exhibited. We have given the best," he says, "always taking care that decency shall not be outraged, nor delicacy shocked; and in this respect, however improbable it may seem, precaution has been by no means unnecessary." What a commentary on the sublime in nature, as reflected on man in the mass!

These Table-Rock Albums contain some true poetry; much would-be fine verse which falls below mediocre; much of horse-play or puerility; and now and then a gleam of wit. Here first appeared the lines which I remember to have conned years ago in a school-rhetoric, and for which, I believe, N. P. Willis was responsible:

To view Niagara Falls one day,A parson and a tailor took their way;The parson cried, whilst wrapped in wonder,And listening to the cataract's thunder,"Lord! how thy works amaze our eyes,And fill our hearts with vast surprise";—The tailor merely made his note:"Lord! what a place to sponge a coat!"

There has been many a visitor at Niagara Falls who shares the sentiments of one disciple of the realistic school:

Loud roars the waters, O,Loud roars the waters, O,When I come to the Falls againI hope they will not spatter so.

Another writes:

My thoughts are strange, sublime and deep,As I look up to thee—What a glorious place for washing sheep,Niagara would be!

Examples of such doggerel could be multiplied by scores, but without profit. There was sense if not poetry in the wight who wrote:

I have been to "Termination Rock"Where many have been before;But as I can't describe the sceneI wont say any more.

Infinitely better than this are the light but pleasing verses written in a child's album, years ago, by the late Col. Peter A. Porter of Niagara Falls. He pictured the discovery of the falls by La Salle and Hennepin and ponders upon the changes that have followed:

What troops of tourists have encamped upon the river's brink;What poets shed from countless quills Niagaras of ink;What artist armies tried to fix the evanescent bowOf the waters falling as they fell two hundred years ago.. . . . . . .And stately inns feed scores of guests from well-replenished larder,And hackmen drive their horses hard, but drive a bargain harder,And screaming locomotives rush in anger to and fro;But the waters fall as once they fell two hundred years ago.And brides of every age and clime frequent the islands' bower,And gaze from off the stone-built perch—hence called the Bridal Tower—And many a lunar belle goes forth to meet a lunar beau,By the waters falling as they fell two hundred years ago.

And brides of every age and clime frequent the islands' bower,And gaze from off the stone-built perch—hence called the Bridal Tower—And many a lunar belle goes forth to meet a lunar beau,By the waters falling as they fell two hundred years ago.

Towards the close of the long poem the author takes a more serious tone, but throughout he keeps up a happy cleverness, agreeably in contrast to the prevailing high gush on one hand and balderdash on the other.

Among the writers of serious and sometimes creditable verse whose names appear in the Table-Rock Albums were Henry D. O'Reilly, C. R. Rowland, Sarah Pratt, Maria del Occidente, George Menzies, Henry Lindsay, the Rev. John Dowling, J. S. Buckingham, the Hon. C. N. Vivian, Douglas Stuart, A. S. Ridgely of Baltimore, H. W. Parker, and Josef Leopold Stiger. Several of these names are not unknown in literature. Prof. Buckingham is remembered as an earlier Bryce, whose elaborate three-volume work on America is still of value. Vivian was a distinguished traveler who wrote books; and Josef Leopold Stiger's stanzas beginning

Sei mir gegrüsst, des jungen Weltreichs Stolz und Zierde!

are by no means the worst of Niagara poems.

I cannot conceive of Niagara Falls as a scene promotive of humor, or suggestive of wit. Others may see both in John G. Saxe's verses, of which the first stanza will suffice to quote:

See Niagara's torrent pour over the height,How rapid the stream! how majestic the floodRolls on, and descends in the strength of his might,As a monstrous great frog leaps into the mud!

The "poem" contains six more stanzas of the same stamp.

The writing of jingles and doggerel having Niagara as a theme did not cease when the Albums were no longer kept up. If there is no humor or grotesqueness in Niagara, there is much of both in the human accessories with which the spot is constantly supplied, and these will never cease to stimulate the wits. I believe that a study of this field—not in a restricted, but a general survey—would discover a decided improvement, in taste if not in native wit, as compared with the compositions which found favor half a century ago. Without entering that field, however, it will suffice to submit in evidence one "poem" from a recent publication, which shows that the making of these Americangenresketches, with Niagara in the background, is not yet a lost art:

Before Niagara Falls they stood,He raised aloft his head,For he was in poetic mood,And this is what he said:"Oh, work sublime! Oh, wondrous lawThat rules thy presence here!How filled I am with boundless aweTo view thy waters clear!"What myriad rainbow colors floatAbout thee like a veil,And in what countless streams remoteThy life has left its trail!""Yes, George," the maiden cried in haste,"Such shades I've never seen,I'm going to have my next new waistThe color of that green."

Before Niagara Falls they stood,He raised aloft his head,For he was in poetic mood,And this is what he said:

"Oh, work sublime! Oh, wondrous lawThat rules thy presence here!How filled I am with boundless aweTo view thy waters clear!

"What myriad rainbow colors floatAbout thee like a veil,And in what countless streams remoteThy life has left its trail!"

"Yes, George," the maiden cried in haste,"Such shades I've never seen,I'm going to have my next new waistThe color of that green."

From about 1850 down to the present hour there is a striking dearth of verse, worthy to be called poetry, with Niagara for its theme. Newspapers and magazines would no doubt yield a store if they could be gleaned; perchance the one Niagara pearl of poetry is thus overlooked; but it is reasonably safe to assume that few really great poems sink utterly from sight. There is, or was, a self-styled Bard of Niagara, whose verses, printed at Montreal in 1872, need not detain us. The only long work on the subject of real merit that I know of, which has appeared in recent years, is George Houghton's "Niagara," published in 1882. Like Mr. Bulkley, he has a true poet's grasp of the material aspect of his subject:

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,Stricken by earthquake beneath, above by the rattle of thunder,Sudden the clamor was pierced by a voice, deep-lunged and portentous—Thine, O Niagara, crying, "Now is creation completed!"

He sees in imagination the million sources of the streams in forest and prairie, which ultimately pour their gathered "tribute of silver" from the rich Western land into the lap of Niagara. He makes skillful use of the Indian legendry associated with the river; he listens to Niagara's "dolorous fugue," and resolves it into many contributory cries. In exquisite fancy he listens to the incantation of the siren rapids:

Thus, in some midnight obscure, bent down by the storm of temptation(So hath the wind, in the beechen wood, confided the story),Pine trees, thrusting their way and trampling down one another,Curious, lean and listen, replying in sobs and in whispers;Till of the secret possessed, which brings sure blight to the hearer(So hath the wind, in the beechen wood, confided the story),Faltering, they stagger brinkward—clutch at the roots of the grasses,Cry—a pitiful cry of remorse—and plunge down in the darkness.

The cataract in its varied aspects is considered with a thought for those who

Sin, and with wine-cup deadened, scoff at the dread of hereafter,—And, because all seems lost, besiege Death's door-way with gladness.

The master-stroke of the poem is in two lines:

That alone is august which is gazed upon by the noble,That alone is gladsome which eyes full of gladness discover.

Herein lies the rebuking judgment upon Niagara's detractors, not all of whom have perpetrated album rhymes.

Mr. Houghton, as the reader will note, recognizes the tragic aspect of Niagara. Considering the insistence with which accident and suicide attend, making here an unappeased altar to the weaknesses and woes of mankind, this aspect of Niagara has been singularly neglected by the poets. We have it, however, exquisitely expressed, in the best of all recent Niagara verse—a sonnet entitled "At Niagara," by Richard Watson Gilder.[86]The following lines illustrate our point:

There at the chasm's edge behold her leanTrembling, as, 'neath the charm,A wild bird lifts no wing to 'scape from harm;Her very soul drawn to the glittering, green,Smooth, lustrous, awful, lovely curve of peril;While far below the bending sea of berylThunder and tumult—whence a billowy sprayEnclouds the day.. . . . . . .

There is a considerable amount of recent verse commonly called "fugitive" that has Niagara for its theme, but I find little that calls for special attention. A few Buffalo writers, the Rev. John C. Lord, Judge Jesse Walker, David Gray, Jas. W. Ward, Henry Chandler, and the Rev. Benjamin Copeland among them, havefound inspiration in the lake and river for some of the best lines that adorn the purely local literature of the Niagara region. Indeed, I know of no allusion to Niagara more exquisitely poetical than the lines in David Gray's historical poem, "The Last of the Kah-Kwahs," in which he compares the Indian villages sleeping in ever-threatened peace to

... the isleThat, locked in wild Niagara's fierce embrace,Still wears a smile of summer on its face—Love in the clasp of Madness.

With this beautiful imagery in mind, recall the lines of Byron:

On the verge. . . . . . .An Iris sits amidst the infernal surge. . . . . . .Resembling, 'mid the tortures of the scene,Love watching Madness with unalterable mien.

Byron did not write of Niagara, but these stanzas beginning

The roar of waters ...

often have been applied to our cataract. Mr. Gray may or may not have been familiar with them. In any event he improved on the earlier poet's figure.

Merely as a matter of chronicle, it is well to record here the names of several writers, some of them of considerable reputation, who have contributed to the poetry of Niagara. Alfred B. Street's well-known narrative poem, "Frontenac," contains Niagara passages. So does Levi Bishop's metrical volume"Teuchsa Grondie" ("Whip-poor-will"), the Niagara portion dedicated to the Hon. Augustus S. Porter. Ever since Chateaubriand wrote "Atala," authors have been prompted to associate Indian legends with Niagara, but none has done this more happily than William Trumbull, whose poem, "The Legend of the White Canoe," illustrated by F. V. Du Mond, is one of the most artistic works in all the literature of Niagara.

The Rev. William Ellery Channing, the Rev. Joseph H. Clinch, the Rev. Joseph Cook, Christopher P. Cranch, Oliver I. Taylor, Grenville Mellen, Prof. Moffat, John Savage, Augustus N. Lowry, Claude James Baxley of Virginia, Abraham Coles, M. D., Henry Howard Brownell, the Rev. Roswell Park, Willis Gaylord Clark, Mary J. Wines, M. E. Wood, E. H. Dewart, G. W. Cutter, J. N. McJilton, and the Chicago writer, Harriet Monroe, are, most of them, minor poets (some, perhaps, but poets by courtesy), whose tributes to our cataract are contained in their collected volumes of verse. In E. G. Holland's "Niagara and Other Poems" (1861), is a poem on Niagara thirty-one pages long, with several pages of notes, "composed for the most part by the Drachenfels, one of the Seven Mountains of the Rhine, in the vicinity of Bonn, September, 1856, and delivered as a part of an address on American Scenery the day following." Among the Canadian poets who have attempted the theme, besides several already named, may be recorded John Breakenridge, a volume of whose verse was printed at Kingston in 1846; CharlesSangster, James Breckenridge, John Imrie, and William Rice, the last three of Toronto. The French-Canadian poet, Louis Fréchette, has written an excellent poem, "Le Niagara." Wm. Sharpe, M. D., "of Ireland," wrote at length in verse on "Niagara and Nature Worship." Charles Pelham Mulvaney touches the region in his poem, "South Africa Remembered at Niagara." One of the most striking effusions on the subject comes from the successful Australian writer, Douglas Sladen. It is entitled "To the American Fall at Niagara," and is dated "Niagara, Oct. 18, 1899":

Niagara, national emblem! CataractBorn of the maddened rapids, sweeping downDirect, resistless from the abyss's crownInto the deep, fierce pool with vast impactScarce broken by the giant boulders, stackedTo meet thine onslaught, threatening to drownEach tillaged plain, each level-loving town'Twixt thee and ocean. Lo! the type exact!America Niagarized the world.Europe, a hundred years agone, beheldAn avalanche, like pent-up Erie, hurledThrough barriers, to which the rocks of eldSeemed toy things—leaping into godlike spaceA sign and wonder to the human race.[87]

America Niagarized the world.Europe, a hundred years agone, beheldAn avalanche, like pent-up Erie, hurledThrough barriers, to which the rocks of eldSeemed toy things—leaping into godlike spaceA sign and wonder to the human race.[87]

Friedrich Bodenstedt and Wilhelm Meister of Germany, J. B. Scandella and the Rev. Santo Santelli of Italy ("Cascada di Niagara," 1841), have placeamong our Niagara poets. So, conspicuously, has Juan Antonio Perez Bonalde, whose illustrated volume, "El Poema del Niagara," dedicated to Emilio Castelar, with a prose introduction of twenty-five pages by the Cuban martyr José Martí, was published in New York, reaching at least a second edition, in 1883. Several Mexican poets have addressed themselves to Niagara. "Á la Catarata del Niágara" is a sonnet by Don Manuel Carpio, whose collected works have been issued at Vera Cruz, Paris, and perhaps elsewhere. In the dramatic works of Don Vincente Riva Palacio and Don Juan A. Mateos is found "La Catarata del Niágara," a three-act drama in verse; the first two acts occur in Mexico, in the house ofDona Rosa, the third act is at Niagara Falls, the time being 1847.[88]The Spanish poet Antonio Vinageras, nearly fifty years ago, wrote a long ode on Niagara, dedicating it to "la célebre poetisa, Doña Gertrudis Gomez de Avellaneda." In no language is there a nobler poem on Niagara than the familiar work by Maria José Heredosia, translated from the Spanish by William Cullen Bryant. The Comte de Fleury, who visited Niagara a few years ago, left a somewhat poetical souvenir in French verse. Fredrika Bremer, whose prose is often unmetered poetry even after translation, wrote of Niagara in a brief poem. The following is a close paraphrase of the Swedish original:

Niagara is the betrothal of Earth's lifeWith the Heavenly life.That has Niagara told me to-day.And now can I leave Niagara. She hasTold me her word of primeval being.

Another Scandinavian poet, John Nyborn, has written a meritorious poem on Niagara Falls, an adaptation of which, in English, was published some years since by Dr. Albin Bernays.

It is a striking fact that Niagara's stimulus to the poetic mind has been quite as often through the ear as through the eye. The best passages of the best poems are prompted by the sound of the falling waters, rather than by the expanse of the flood, the height of cliffs, or the play of light. In Mr. Bulkley's work, which indeed exhausts the whole store of simile and comparison, we perpetually hear the voice of the falls, the myriad voices of nature, the awful voice of God.

"Minstrel of the Floods,"

he cries:

What pæans full of triumph dost thou hymn!. . . . . . .However varied is the rhythm sweetOf thine unceasing song! The ripple oftAstray along thy banks a lyric isOf love; the cool drops trickling down thy sidesAre gentle sonnets; and thy lesser fallsAre strains elegiac, that sadly soundA monody of grief; thy whirlpool fierce,A shrill-toned battle-song; thy river's rushA strain heroic with its couplet rhymes;. . . . . . .While the full sweep of thy close-crowded tideResounds supreme o'er all, an epic grand.

Of this class, too, is the "Apostrophe to Niagara," by one B. Frank Palmer, in 1855. It is said to have been "written with the pencil in a few minutes, the author seated on the bank, drenched, from the mighty bath at Termination Rock, and still listening to the roar and feeling the eternal jar of the cataract." The Rev. T. Starr King, upon reading it in 1855, said: "The apostrophe has the music of Niagara in it." As a typical example of the devotional apostrophe it is perhaps well to give it in full:

This is Jehovah's fullest organ strain!I hear the liquid music rolling, breaking.From the gigantic pipes the great refrainBursts on my ravished ear, high thoughts awaking!The low sub-bass, uprising from the deep,Swells the great pæan as it rolls supernal—Anon, I hear, at one majestic sweepThe diapason of the keys eternal!Standing beneath Niagara's angry flood—The thundering cataract above me bounding—I hear the echo: "Man, there is a God!"From the great arches of the gorge resounding!Behold, O man! nor shrink aghast in fear!Survey the vortex boiling deep before thee!The Hand that ope'd the liquid gateway hereHath set the beauteous bow of promise o'er thee!Here, in the hollow of that Mighty Hand,Which holds the basin of the tidal ocean,Let not the jarring of the spray-washed strandDisturb the orisons of pure devotion.Roll on, Niagara! great River King!Beneath thy sceptre all earth's rulers, mortal,Bow reverently; and bards shall ever singThe matchless grandeur of thy peerless portal!I hear, Niagara, in this grand strain,His voice, who speaks in flood, in flame and thunder—Forever mayst thou, singing, roll and reign—Earth's grand, sublime, supreme, supernal wonder.

This is Jehovah's fullest organ strain!I hear the liquid music rolling, breaking.From the gigantic pipes the great refrainBursts on my ravished ear, high thoughts awaking!

The low sub-bass, uprising from the deep,Swells the great pæan as it rolls supernal—Anon, I hear, at one majestic sweepThe diapason of the keys eternal!

Standing beneath Niagara's angry flood—The thundering cataract above me bounding—I hear the echo: "Man, there is a God!"From the great arches of the gorge resounding!

Behold, O man! nor shrink aghast in fear!Survey the vortex boiling deep before thee!The Hand that ope'd the liquid gateway hereHath set the beauteous bow of promise o'er thee!

Here, in the hollow of that Mighty Hand,Which holds the basin of the tidal ocean,Let not the jarring of the spray-washed strandDisturb the orisons of pure devotion.

Roll on, Niagara! great River King!Beneath thy sceptre all earth's rulers, mortal,Bow reverently; and bards shall ever singThe matchless grandeur of thy peerless portal!

I hear, Niagara, in this grand strain,His voice, who speaks in flood, in flame and thunder—Forever mayst thou, singing, roll and reign—Earth's grand, sublime, supreme, supernal wonder.

Such lines as these—which might be many times multiplied—recall Eugene Thayer's ingenious and highly poetic paper on "The Music of Niagara."[89]Indeed, many of the prose writers, as well as the versifiers, have found their best tribute to Niagara inspired by the mere sound of falling waters.

That Niagara's supreme appeal to the emotions is not through the eye but through the ear, finds a striking illustration in "Thoughts on Niagara," a poem of about eighty lines written prior to 1854 by Michael McGuire, a blind man.[90]Here was one whose only impressions of the cataract came through senses other than that of sight. As is usual with the blind, he uses phrases that imply consciousness of light; yet to him, as to other poets whose devotional natures respond to this exhibition of natural laws, all the phenomena merge in "the voice of God":

I stood where swift Niagara pours its floodInto the darksome caverns where it falls,And heard its voice, as voice of God, proclaimThe power of Him, who let it on its courseCommence, with the green earth's first creation;And I was where the atmosphere shed tears,As giving back the drops the waters wept,On reaching that great sepulchre of floods,—Or bringing from above the bow of God,To plant its beauties in the pearly spray.And as I stood and heard,though seeing nought,Sad thoughts took deep possession of my mind,And rude imagination venturing forth,Did toil to pencil, though in vain, that scene,Which, in its every feature, spoke of God.

And I was where the atmosphere shed tears,As giving back the drops the waters wept,On reaching that great sepulchre of floods,—Or bringing from above the bow of God,To plant its beauties in the pearly spray.

And as I stood and heard,though seeing nought,Sad thoughts took deep possession of my mind,And rude imagination venturing forth,Did toil to pencil, though in vain, that scene,Which, in its every feature, spoke of God.

The poem, which as a whole is far above commonplace, develops a pathetic prayer for sight; and employs much exalted imagery attuned to the central idea that here Omnipotence speaks without ceasing; here is

A temple, where Jehovah is felt most.

But for the most part, the world's strong singers have passed Niagara by; nor has Niagara's newest aspect, that of a vast engine of energy to be used for the good of man, yet found worthy recognition by any poet of potentials.

This survey, though incomplete, is yet sufficiently comprehensive to warrant a few conclusions. More than half of all the verse on the subject which I have examined was written during the second quarter of this century. The first quarter, as has been shown, was the age of Niagara's literary discovery, and produced a few chronicles of curious interest. During the last half of the century—the time in which practically the whole brilliant and substantial fabric of American literature has been created—Niagara well-nigh has been ignored by the poets. In all our list, Goldsmith and Moore are the British writers of chief eminence who have touched the subject in verse, though many British poets, from Edwin Arnold to Oscar Wilde, have written poetic prose about Niagara. Of native Americans, I have found no names in the list of Niagara singers greater than those of Drake and Mrs. Sigourney. Emerson nor Lowell, Whittier nor Longfellow, Holmes nor Stedman, has given our Niagara wonder the dowry of a single line. Whitman, indeed, alludes to Niagara in his poem "By Blue Ontario's Shore," but his poetic vision makes no pause at the falls; nor does that of Joseph O'Connor, who in his stirring and exalted Columbian poem, "The Philosophy of America," finds a touch of color for his continental cosmorama by letting his sweeping glance fall for a moment,

To where, 'twixt Erie and Ontario,Leaps green Niagara with a giant roar.

But in such a symphony as his, Niagara is a subservient element, not the dominating theme. Most of the Niagara poets have been of local repute, unknown to fame.

What, then, must we conclude? Shall we say with Martin Farquhar Tupper—who has contributed to the alleged poetry of the place—that there is nothing sublime about Niagara? The many poetic and impassioned passages in prose descriptions are against such aview. If dimensions, volume, exhibition of power, are elements of sublimity, Niagara Falls are sublime. But it cannot be said that superlative exhibitions of nature, some essentially universal phenomena, like those of the sea and sky, excepted, have been made the specific subject of verse, with a high degree of success. The reason is not far to seek, and lies in the inherent nature of poetry. It is a chief essential of poetry that it express, in imaginative form, the insight of the human soul. The feeble poets who have addressed themselves to Niagara have stopped, for the most part, with purely objective utterance. In some few instances, as we have seen, a truly subjective regard has given us noble lines.

The poetic in nature is essentially independent of the detail of natural phenomena. A waterfall 150 feet high is not intrinsically any more poetic than one but half that height; or a thunder-peal than the tinkle of a rill. True poetry must be self-expression, as well as interpretive of truths which are manifested through physical phenomena. Hence it is in the nature of things that a nameless brook shall have its Tennyson, or a Niagara flow unsung.

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