Scenes in my Native Land/Farewell to Niagara
FAREWELL TO NIAGARA.
My spirit grieves to say, Farewell to thee,
Oh beautiful and glorious!
Thou dost robe
Thyself in mantle of the colored mist,
Most lightly tinged, and exquisite as thought,
Decking thy forehead with a crown of gems
Woven by God's tight hand.
Hadst thou but wrapped
Thy brow in clouds, and swept the blinding mist
In showers upon us, it had been less hard
To part from thee. But there thou art, sublime
In noon-day splendor, gathering all thy rays
Unto their climax, green, and fleecy white,
And changeful tinture, for which words of man
Have neither sign nor sound, until to breathe
Farewell is agony. For we have roamed
Beside thee, at our will, and drawn thy voice
Into our secret soul, and felt how good
Thus to be here, until we half implored,
While long in wildering ecstasy we gazed,
To build us tabernacles, and behold
Always thy majesty.
Fain would we dwell
Here at thy feet, and be thy worshipper,
And from the weariness and dust of earth
Steal evermore away. Yea, were it not
That many a care doth bind us here below,
And in each care, a duty, like a flower,
Thorn-hedged, perchance, yet fed with dews of heaven,
And in each duty, an enclosed joy,
Which like a honey-searching bee doth sing,—
And were it not, that ever in our path
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 footstep broke this dream of life.
And now, reader and friend, our hour of pleasant gossip is finished. We have said nothing of the pictured rocks, or the great western caverns, nor wandered together in spirit on the borders of our mighty lakes, or the shores of the "father of waters."
No. I have spoken only of such places as "keepers at home" may readily reach, and which probably you have yourself visited. Still it is as useful, and vastly more convenient, to admire objects near at hand than those far away; and on what the eye hath oft-times looked, we may still discover an unplucked flower, or an ungathered sunbeam, to cheer and to uplift the heart.
I have frequently used, in this little book, the language of others; sometimes, because I considered it better than my own; and sometimes, because I remembered the saying, that there is no greater compliment to an author than to quote from his works.
You will not, I hope, count it a deception, that while its title announces a description of scenes, its page so often presents those who have peopled them. I felt that a landscape was improved by figures, and that it was a solace made stronger by advancing years, thus to deepen the heart's memorial of the good and the lovely, who are no longer among the living.
So now, reader and friend, unknown, perchance, but still a friend, Farewell. If it is morning with you, may the day be blessed and happy; and if it is evening,
"a fair good night,
And pleasant dreams, and slumbers light."
Hartford, Conn. Dec. 4, 1844.