THE BRITISH VISITOR
ARRIV’D, at last, Niagara to scan,
He walks erect and feels himself a man;
Surveys the cataract with a “critic’s eye,”
Resolv’d to pass no “imperfections by”—
Niag’ra, wonder of the Deity,
Where God’s own spirit reigns in majesty.
With sullen roar the foaming billows sweep;
A world of waters thunders o’er the steep;
The unmingled colours laugh upon the spray,
And one eternal rainbow gilds the day.
Oh, glorious God! Oh, scene surpassing all!
“True, true,” quoth he, “’tis something of a fall.”
Now, shall unpunish’d such a vagrant band,
Pour like the plagues of Egypt on the land,
Eyeing each fault, to all perfection blind,
Shedding the taint of a malignant mind?
From the Trollopiad.