NFPP 19 - The Sublime Niagara Falls

Great Cataract Sublime by Rich Roach


Niagara Falls, great cataract sublime,
Whose mists, like dragons, curl against the sky;
O thund'ring god, whose movement over time
Has gouged a mile-wide path, where seagulls fly
And trace your giant steps, each twist and turn,
Down yawning gorge to where the whirlpool boils
Beneath the dancing rapids — wild they churn,
Twisting, as round great rocks the river coils —
Why now the tears? The thousand voices sighing?
Do you not hear the reverent silence? Awe
And fear upon each frozen tongue? The dying
Exhalations of spirits, which, like straw
Before the winds, are strewn to airy silence?
You hear, you see, with pity not defiance.

Source: The author, 2001.

View on the Niagara Falls Poetry Project website



Sun shining through the early morning mist, January 7, 2007. Photo by Andrew Porteus
 


From the photographer's Niagara Mornings series - January 2, 2007. Photo by Andrew Porteus
 


Horseshoe Falls with Storm by Henry Samuel Davis, 1847. Courtesy of Niagara Falls Public Library
 


 

As mentioned in the introduction, the (mainly) 19th century exploration of the sublime encourages contemplation of nature, death and the future, and the poetry of the time is no exception. One of the most-publicized events of the 1850s was the death of Joseph Avery and two companions in July, 1853, after a night on the town. They had rowed to a tavern on the American side, but when it was time to row back ended up going the wrong way and were swept to the falls. Avery's companions and the boat were swept over the falls right away, but Avery managed to cling to a tree stuck in the middle of the river. The dramatic rescue attempts are recounted in this poem by William Dean Howells.


Avery, 1853 by Wiiliam 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 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 line 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 staunch,
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 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,
Chorusing 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, amid 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 the cataract's brink and out of the world.

Source: Myron T. Pritchard, comp. Poetry of Niagara. Boston: :Lothrop Publishing Co., 1901.

See this poem on the Niagara Falls Poetry Project website

 
 


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