XLV.
I know not why, yet, as I press my way
Towards the world-renowned Falls, I feel
A thrill of awe, which words may not convey
Description of. The feeling may be real
Or fanciful, but now my trembling soul
Seems nearer God, and more in His control.
Majestic Falls! What little words of mine
Can paint thy grandeur? How can I essay
To picture such unpictured might as thine?
And yet I would not silent pass away,
And carry with me nothing that recalls
The grandeur of Niagara's proud Falls.
XLVII.
On, on, tumultuous waters, ever on
Unceasingly ye rush, and blindly leap
From giddy heights, in volume all unknown,
Down, down the jagged rock-protruding steep,
And, ever breaking as ye downward go,
Burst forth in show'rs like iridescent snow.
XLVIII.
Here, rolling in unbroken shining green,
Your waters smoothly curve them o'er the cliff.
No sign of foam or bubbling break is seen
As in their glassy depth they roll, as if
While all around is wreck and chaos wild,
They dare to flow conspicuously mild.
And here again they break while rushing o'er
Some rugged rock—a million flecks of spray
Rise, high projected in the air; before
These fall, or in the sunlight melt away,
A new-born cloud, in high-aspiring pride,
Bursts forth, and casts its foam-drops far and wide.