Niagara Falls 



1834 And were it not, that ever in our path 



igoumey Spring up our planted seeds of love and grief, 



Which we must watch, and bring their perfect fruit 



Into our Master's garner, it were sweet 



To linger here, and be thy worshipper, 



Until death's footsteps broke this dream of life. 



SlGOURNEY, L. H. The hermit of the Falls. (In her Illustrated 

 poems. Phila.: Lindsay and Blakiston. 1860. Pp. 143-149) 

 The story of Francis Abbott. 



SlGOURNEY, Mrs. LYDIA H. The hermit of Niagara. (Graham's 

 Am. mo. mag., Feb., 1848. 32:127-128.) 



SlGOURNEY, Mrs. LYDIA H. The hermit of the Falls. (In Barham, 

 William, Descriptions of Niagara; selected from various travellers; . . . 

 Gravesend: n. d. Pp. 142-146.) 



It was the leafy month of June, 

 And joyous nature all in tune, 



With wreathing buds were drest, 

 As towards Niagara's fearful side 



A youthful stranger prest; 

 His ruddy cheek was blanched with awe, 

 And scarce he seemed his breath to draw, 



While bending o'er its brim, 

 He marked its strong, unfathomed tide, 



And heard its thunder-hymn. 



His measured week too quickly fled, 

 Another, and another sped, 

 And soon the summer-rose decayed, 

 The moon of autumn sank in shade, 

 Years filled their circle, brief and fair, 

 Yet still the enthusiast lingered there, 



Till winter hurled its dart, 

 For deeper round his soul was wove 

 A mystic chain of quenchless love, 



That would not let him part 

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