Music — Poetry — Fiction 



Cranch. Christopher Pearse. The cataract isle. (In Johnson, 1844 

 R. L., Niagara; its history, incidents, and poetry. . . . Wash:; W. Cranch 

 Neale. 1898. Pp. 49-50.) 



The author was an American landscape painter, a poet and translator. 

 His verses have artistic and literary merit. 



I wandered through the ancient wood 



That crowns the cataract isle. 

 I heard the roaring of the flood 



And saw its wild fierce smile. 



Through tall tree-tops the sunshine flecked 



The huge trunks and the ground 

 And the pomp of fullest summer decked 



The island all around. 



And winding paths led all along 



Where friends and lovers strayed, 

 And voices rose with laugh and song 



From sheltered nooks of shade. 



Through opening forest vistas whirled 



The rapids' foamy flash, 

 As they boiled along and plunged and swirled, 



And neared the last long dash. 



I crept to the island's outer verge, 



Where the grand, broad river fell — 

 Fell sheer down amid foam and surge 



In a white and blinding hell. 



The steady rainbow gaily shone 



Above the precipice, 

 And the deep low tone of a thunder groan 



Rolled up from the drear abyss. 



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