A Canadian Epic, XXXIX–LIX

In numbers far unequal to the foe, The British had retired. The battery Was taken by the enemy; though slow, Defeat for Britain seemed a certainty; When Brock arrived upon the battle-field, And bade them form again, nor ever yield.

Himself then leading, onward to the fray They charged, restrengthened by his confidence; And soon they saw the enemy give way, Retiring slowly from the eminence. The day was theirs, the tide of battle turned, But dearly was that day of victory earned!

The noble Brock would raise his sword no more; No more his cheering word would lead them on. His soul had passed away from scenes of war, His latest battle had been fought and won. And with his spirit, in its upward flight, The soul of young Macdonell passed that night.

A lofty monument, upon the Height Where fell these two, commemorates their deed. There stands it, tow'ring high within the sight Of either Land. Thus let it stand, and plead, In silent mournfulness, that further feud Between the Lands shall never be renewed.

For we are brothers still—the bond of blood Unites us closely, and, though each has done The other wrong, unselfish deeds and good, Which since have been exchanged, should quite atone For injuries long past. Then clasp our hand, America. As brothers let us stand.

I wander up the river's bank, my thought Still dwelling on those troublous times of yore, Until my mind by slow degrees is brought To present times and scenes. A distant roar At first recalls me from my reverie, Then bids me trace my steps less tardily.

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.

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.

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.

And each new cloud a thing of life appears, And each leaps forth as though its wild intent Were solely to out-distance its compeers, And rise more high than they. And each seems bent On reaching to a height unreached before, And tells its purpose in a muffled roar.

While, far below, a rocky destiny Awaits the mighty waters. Loud resounds The roaring of their falling constantly, While from the rocks the foaming mass rebounds; And upward rising, far above the height, A mist half hides the waters from my sight.

The evening sun illumes the rising spray, And forms a bow in beauty unsurpassed. Above the Falls it bends its glist'ning ray, While in the deep its radiance is cast. And, as the mist or fades or thickens, so It breaks or forms again the changing bow.

Above the Falls the rushing rapids rage, In awesome grandeur only less than they. Thus have they madly tossed from age to age, And thus have galloped on their heedless way. In ceaseless ferment, and in constant change, Wide o'er their rocky area they range.

Now foaming whitely, now in rippling waves Unbroken, haste they onward to their fate; Each speeding hurriedly as though it craves An early death. So reckless is the rate Which some pursue, that, with a sudden shock, They burst in foam-clouds on a hidden rock.

Rush on, ye mighty waters, and declare To self-conceited man his littleness; Rush on, and give your music to the air, And calm our thoughts and make our sorrows less; For as a friend by words of sympathy Can soothe us, by your music so can ye.

For in your music we can hear the voice Of Him whose hand hath made both ye and us, And we, in deepest gratitude, rejoice, And thank Him who has made ye so. And thus, While listening to your music-roar to-day, I seem to hear the Spirit speak and say:

"As constant roll these waters o'er the steep, So ceaselessly thy Father watcheth thee; As day and night they run, and never sleep, So worketh He throughout eternity; And as their volume's measure is unknown, So boundless is His love towards His own.

"Then fear not, troubled soul, nor seek to know What destiny has been prepared for thee. Thou seest these mighty waters onward flow, Conforming thus to all their Lord's decree— Then live thou as thy conscience bids thee live, And know that God due recompense will give."

Rush on, ye waters, with your message fraught Of constant love and care of God; rush on Through lake and ocean, until ye have brought Your message to the One whose love has shone Through darkness on my life; and bear from me A message, too, of love and constancy.

Though far I roam from thee, My fondest Love, my thought To theeward constantly By love's dear bond is brought.

Whate'er I hear or see, If not thy voice or face, Has interest for me For but a little space.

And, whatso'er befall, It little recks to me, If it be not a call, To summon me to thee.

My widowed spirit cries Aloud for her twin-soul; My heart in sorrow lies, And needs thee to console.

Thus all my being faints, And for thy presence pants; In sorrowful complaints It mourns our severance.

Then, dearest one, think not That we shall never be United—such a lot Is not for thee and me.

And when at last we meet, (As is our destiny), In commune pure and sweet We'll live eternally.