With stacks of grain and implements of man,
In wild confusion onward to the sea.
Sad are the notes of nature—doubly sad,
Where leaping o’er her brown and dizzy height,
With robe of silver and a rainbow crown,
Niagara sings her thunder-hymn to earth’s
Remotest waters—where oft the poet’s eye
Beholds, amid the shades of autumn eve,
The Tuscarora in his phantom bark,
Singing his death-song on the cataract’s brow.