By way of concluding this imperfect sketch, we add some few lines, which were written in despite of a resolution most religiously made against such a presumptive measure; for, somehow or other, the humblest, as well as the loftiest pen, will attempt in numbers to express the unnumbered thoughts and “strange, which crowd into the brain” at Niagara. And while this prince of cataracts flows on, its terrific beauties will be still the oft-told but unspent theme of the “spirit-stirring muse.”
NIAGARA.
“How dreadful is this place!” for God is here!
His name is graven on th’ eternal rocks,
As with an iron pen and diamond’s point:
While their unceasing floods his voice proclaim,
Oft as their thunder shakes the distant hills.
O! if the forest-trees, which have grown old
In viewing all the wonders of this scene,
Do tremble still, and cast to earth their leaves—