Others also have perished here, of whom it might be said, in the sweet strains of our lamented melodist, Willis Gaylord Clarke,
"It was but yesterday, that all before thee
Shone in the freshness of life's morning hours,—
Joy's radiant smile was playing brightly o'er thee,
And thy light feet impressed but vernal flowers.
How have the garlands of thy beauty withered!
And hope's false anthem died upon the air!
Death's sudden tempests o'er thy way have gathered,
And his stern bolts have burst in fury there."
The Falls at Trenton, are perhaps more indescribable than even the great Niagara, which, throwing the mind continually back on the Almighty Creator, can in some measure be delineated through the solemnity and sublimity of the emotions it creates. But Trenton exhibits a ceaseless, bewildering change of the surprising and beautiful, a sort of Protean character, a chamelion tint, which neither pen nor pencil can arrest, without injustice or failure. Go, and see for yourselves.
