Niagara Falls 



1836 III 



High on the brow of the Alps' snowy towers 



The mountain Swiss measures his rock-breasted moors. 



O'er his lone cottage the avalanche lowers, 



Round its rude portal the spring-torrent pours. 



Sweet is his sleep amid peril and danger, 



Warm is his greeting to kindred and friends, 



Open his hand to the poor and the stranger, 



Stern on his foeman his sabre descends. 



IV 



Lo ! where the tempests the dark waters sunder 

 Slumbers the sailor boy, reckless and brave, 

 Warm'd by the lightning and lulled by the thunder, 

 Fann'd by the whirlwind and rock'd on the wave ; 

 Wildly the winter wind howls round his pillow, 

 Cold on his bosom the spray showers fall ; 

 Creaks the strained mast at the rush of the billow, 

 Peaceful he slumbers regardless of all. 



V 



Mark how the cheek of the warrior flushes, 



As the battle drum beats and war torches glare ; 



Like a blast of the north to the onset he rushes, 



And his wide-waving falchion gleams brightly in air. 



Around him the death-shot of foemen are flying, 



At his feet friends and comrades are yielding their breath; 



He strikes to the groans of the wounded and dying, 



But the war cry he strikes with is, ' conquest or death.' 



VI 



Then pour thy broad wave like a flood from the heavens, 

 Each son that thou rearest, in the battle's wild shock, 

 When the death-speaking note of the trumpet is given, 



722 



