Music — Poetry — Fiction 



A chieftain of the Iroquois, clad in a bison's skin, iggg 



Had led two travelers through the wood, La Salle and Porter 



Hennepin. 

 He points, and there they, standing, gaze upon the ceaseless 



flow 

 Of waters falling as they fell two hundred years ago. 



Those three are gone, and little heed our worldly gain or 



loss — 

 The Chief, the Soldier of the Sword, the Soldier of the 



Cross. 

 One died in battle, one in bed, and one by secret foe ; 

 But the waters fall as once they fell two hundred years ago. 



Ah, me! what myriads of men, since then, have come and 



gone; 

 What states have risen and decayed, what prizes lost and 



won; 

 What varied tricks the juggler, Time, has played with all 



below ; 

 But the waters fall as once they fell two hundred years ago. 



What troops of tourists have encamped upon the river's 



brink; 

 Wliat poets shed from countless quills, Niagaras of ink; 

 What artist armies tried to fix the evanescent bow 

 Of waters falling as they fell two hundred years ago. 



And stately inns feed scores of guests from well replenished 



larder, 

 And hackmen drive their horses hard, but drive a bargain 



harder ; 

 And screaming locomotives rush in anguish to and fro : 

 And the waters fall as once they fell two hundred years ago. 



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