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Lines on Niagaras [sic] Charms and Death

Gazing on rapid's mighty sea,
Struggling fiercely to be free,
But drawn downward in its course
By gravitation's wonderous force,
O'er those perpendicular walls,
Hurled 'mong mighty rocks it falls,
Causing the earth tothrob and shake
Like to the termor of earthquake ;
Thus the world's greatest wonder
Reverberates likes peals of thunder.
Reshrined with mist and beauteous glow
Of varied tints of the rainbow,
Most glorious sight the human eye
Hath ever seen, beneath the sky ;
Along these banks none ever trod
But did feel grateful to his God
For lavishing, with bounteous green ;
Plunged by whirlpool's dread commotion,
It becomes a seething ocean
Where furies join in surging dance
From centre to circumstance.
This is the favourite abode
Of Neptune, mightiest sea god-
He hat hdecreed none shall survive
Who will into this vortex dive.

Webb swam the English channel brave,
Like sea bird he did love to lave
His breast upon the mightiest wave,
Alas ! Found here a watery grave.
Torrent onward rushes, frantic
On its course to the Atlantic,
But on its way doth gently flow
Through blue Lake Ontario ;

Rejoicing on its way it smiles,
Kissing the shores of thousand isles,
Mingling with St. Lawrence motion
It soon is blended with the ocean.

poem by James McIntyre
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The Destroying Spirit

I sit upon the rocks that frown

Above the rapid Nile;

And on the toil of man look down

With bitter and scornful smile.

My rocks are inaccessible,

And few return their terrors to tell.

My subjects are the birds, whose wings

Never soar'd into other air;

To whose shrill cries each echo rings—

For their nests are hidden there:

They dip their plumes in that mighty river,

Whose course is onward—onward, for ever.

I see the deluge come sweeping on

Where waving corn-fields gleam;

And forests, and cities, and herds are gone,

Like the shadows of a dream:

The rushing tide is an ocean now;

And islands of ruin darken its brow.

But the waters sink, and earth again

Smiles under Nature's gentlest reign:

Where, from scenes of bliss, shall I go?

I—whose existence is terror and woe.

Now I hide in the burning breast

Of some mountain, whose fires are never at rest,

And urge the torrents that downward flow,

Crashing and swallowing all below.

Then, through the air—away!—away!

Till I check my course on the dread Himmaleh:

Down to its deepest valleys I dive,

Which no mortal can ever see and live,

To visit the evil spirits who dwell

In the ceaseless gloom of that murky dell.

With them, from their rocky temples I roam,

To lure the traveller from his home:

When he rests beneath some charmed tree

With dreams we vex his mind;

And he wakes our hideous forms to see,

As we hover upon the wind;

And our voices howl in the hurrying blast,

Till in frantic fear he breathes his last:

Then we bear him to our dismal cave,

And his tortured spirit we claim as our slave!

I dwell where tempests are loud and dread—

I ride on the billow's foam;

And wherever terror is widest spread

There is the Spirit's home.

poem by Louisa Stuart Costello
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Ocean Blue

Well you took me home
And you took me back
But deep down inside
The feeling just died and i
Couldnt see why
From indigo to royal blue
I travel far but no one will do
Anytime, anyplace
Every shape every face
Brings memories of you
Blue to be blue
To be blue
Ocean blue
Blue to be blue
To be blue
Ocean blue - ocean blue
Fair weather friends might drift away
When summer ends and skies burn grey
So I walk to the ocean
Pilot these shores
Just thinking of you
Its time we kissed the clouds goodbye
From now on its strictly blue sky
Come rain and shine
The outlook is still fine
Im thinking of you
Blue to be blue
To be blue
Ocean blue
Blue to be blue
To be blue
Ocean blue - ocean blue
Blue to be blue
To be blue
Ocean blue, ocean blue
Ocean blue, ocean blue
Ocean blue, ocean blue
Ocean blue, ocean ocean
Ocean, ocean
Blue to be blue
To be blue
Ocean blue
Blue to be blue
To be blue
Ocean blue - ocean blue
I stand at the head of the queue
Theres mutinys every crew
Wishin and wonderin bout you
Ocean blue

song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nature's Hymn to the Deity

All nature owns with one accord
The great and universal Lord:
The sun proclaims him through the day,
The moon when daylight drops away,
The very darkness smiles to wear
The stars that show us God is there,
On moonlight seas soft gleams the sky
And 'God is with us' waves reply.

Winds breathe from God's abode 'we come,'
Storms louder own God is their home,
And thunder yet with louder call,
Sounds 'God is mightiest over all';
Till earth right loath the proof to miss
Echoes triumphantly 'He is,'
And air and ocean makes reply,
God reigns on earth, in air and sky.

All nature owns with one accord
The great and universal Lord:
Insect and bird and tree and flower--
The witnesses of every hour--
Are pregnant with his prophesy
And 'God is with us' all reply.
The first link in the mighty plan
Is still--and all upbraideth man.

poem by John Clare
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The Three Voices

The waves have a story to tell me,
As I lie on the lonely beach;
Chanting aloft in the pine-tops,
The wind has a lesson to teach;
But the stars sing an anthem of glory
I cannot put into speech.

The waves tell of ocean spaces,
Of hearts that are wild and brave,
Of populous city places,
Of desolate shores they lave,
Of men who sally in quest of gold
To sink in an ocean grave.

The wind is a mighty roamer;
He bids me keep me free,
Clean from the taint of the gold-lust,
Hardy and pure as he;
Cling with my love to nature,
As a child to the mother-knee.

But the stars throng out in their glory,
And they sing of the God in man;
They sing of the Mighty Master,
Of the loom his fingers span,
Where a star or a soul is a part of the whole,
And weft in the wondrous plan.

Here by the camp-fire's flicker,
Deep in my blanket curled,
I long for the peace of the pine-gloom,
When the scroll of the Lord is unfurled,
And the wind and the wave are silent,
And world is singing to world.

poem by Robert William Service
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A Royal Home-Coming

Welcome, right welcome home, to these blest Isles,
Where, unforgotten, loved Victoria sleeps,
But now with happy pride your Father smiles,
Your Mother weeps.

You went as came the swallow, homeward draw
Now it hath winged its way to winters green;
But never swallow or wandering sea-bird saw
What You have seen.

For You have circled the earth with pinions fleet,
The seasons through, and everywhere a throng
Of glowing hearts your coming trooped to greet
With flowers and song.

Over the unchanging sea eight changeful moons
Have moved from shield to sickle, seed to sheaves,
And twice a hundred dawns, a hundred noons,
A hundred eves,

Waned to their slumber in the star-lit night,
And ever from land or lake, from wave or crag,
From fixed or floating fort, You had in sight
The British Flag.

And wider, further, onward round the world,
Scouring the field or furrowing the sea,
You found that Emblem, which, where'er unfurled,
Floats o'er the Free:

So that on man, and man's laborious hand,
Nor manacle nor hindrance shall be laid,
But mind with mind, and strand with generous strand,
Contend and trade.

And, though the shade of treasonable strife
Falls on our homes and theirs, You, wandering, saw,
Young Commonwealths You found, surging with life,
Yet ruled by Law:

Whose blood, infused in ours in War's emprise,
To vindicate one Sceptre, sword, and tongue,-
As ours perchance may help to keep them wise,-
Hath made us young.

Fountain of Youth England in mellower years
Hath found and drained, so that She ne'er need know
What Nature feels when Autumn stacks and seres,
Or Yule-gusts blow.

You sailed from us to them, from them to us,
Love at the prow and wisdom at the helm,
August Ambassadors, who strengthen thus
Her Rule and Realm.

Round You to-day a People stand arrayed,
That fain with Peace two wedded worlds would dower,
Therefore rejoicing mightier hath been made
Imperial Power.

poem by Alfred Austin
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On The Death Of Rebecca

Thou delicate blossom; thy short race is ended,
Thou sample of virtue and prize of the brave!
No more are thy beauties by mortals attended,
They now are but food for the worms and the grave.

Thou art gone to the tomb, whence there's no returning,
And left us behind in a vale of suspense;
In vain to the dust do we follow thee mourning,
The same doleful trump will soon call us all hence.

I view thee now launched on eternity's ocean,
Thy soul how it smiles as it floats on the wave;
It smiles as if filled with the softest emotion,
But looks not behind on the frowns of the grave.

The messenger came from afar to relieve thee--
In this lonesome valley no more shalt thon roam;
Bright seraphs now stand on the banks to receive thee,
And cry, 'Happy stranger, thou art welcome at home.'

Thou art gone to a feast, while thy friends are bewailing,
Oh, death is a song to the poor ransom'd slave;
Away with bright visions the spirit goes sailing,
And leaves the frail body to rest in the grave.

Rebecca is free from the pains of oppression,
No friends could prevail with her longer to stay;
She smiles on the fields of eternal fruition,
Whilst death like a bridegroom attends her away.

She is gone in the whirlwind--ye seraphs attend her,
Through Jordan's cold torrent her mantle may lave;
She soars in the chariot, and earth falls beneath her,
Resign'd in a shroud to a peaceable grave.

poem by George Moses Horton
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Sabrina

Isle of the ocean, say, whence comest thou?
The smoke thy dark throne, and the blaze round thy brow;
The voice of the earthquake proclaims thee abroad,
And the deep, at thy coming, rolls darkly and loud.

From the breast of the ocean, the bed of the wave,
Thou hast burst into being, hast sprung from the grave;
A stranger, wild, gloomy, yet terribly bright,
Thou art clothed with the darkness, yet crowned with the light.

Thou comest in flames, thou hast risen in fire;
The wave is thy pillow, the tempest thy choir;
They will lull thee to sleep on the ocean's broad breast,
A slumb'ring volcano, an earthquake at rest.

Thou hast looked on the isle — thou hast looked on the wave —
Then hie thee again to thy deep, watery grave;
Go, quench thee in ocean, thou dark, nameless thing,
Thou spark from the fallen one's wide flaming wing.

poem by Lucretia Maria Davidson
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The Ocean

They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters, these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep.

~ Psalm cvii. 23, 24.

HE that in venturous barks hath been
A wanderer on the deep,
Can tell of many an awful scene,
Where storms for ever sweep.

For many a fair, majestic sight
Hath met his wandering eye,
Beneath the streaming northern light,
Or blaze of Indian sky.

Go! ask him of the whirlpool's roar,
Whose echoing thunder peals
Loud, as if rushed along the shore
An army's chariot wheels;

Of icebergs, floating o'er the main,
Or fixed upon the coast,
Like glittering citadel or fane,
'Mid the bright realms of frost;

Of coral rocks, from waves below
In steep ascent that tower,
And fraught with peril, daily grow,
Formed by an insect's power;

Of sea-fires, which at dead of night
Shine o'er the tides afar,
And make th' expanse of ocean bright
As heaven, with many a star.

Oh God! thy name they well may praise,
Who to the deep go down,
And trace the wonders of thy ways,
Where rocks and billows frown.

If glorious be that awful deep,
No human power can bind,
What then art Thou, who bidst it keep
Within its bounds confined!

Let heaven and earth in praise unite,
Eternal praise to Thee,
Whose word can rouse the tempest's might,
Or still the raging sea!

poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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To The River Arve

Not from the sands or cloven rocks,
Thou rapid Arve! thy waters flow;
Nor earth, within her bosom, locks
Thy dark unfathomed wells below.
Thy springs are in the cloud, thy stream
Begins to move and murmur first
Where ice-peaks feel the noonday beam,
Or rain-storms on the glacier burst.

Born where the thunder and the blast,
And morning's earliest light are born,
Thou rushest swoln, and loud, and fast,
By these low homes, as if in scorn:
Yet humbler springs yield purer waves;
And brighter, glassier streams than thine,
Sent up from earth's unlighted caves,
With heaven's own beam and image shine.

Yet stay; for here are flowers and trees;
Warm rays on cottage roofs are here,
And laugh of girls, and hum of bees--
Here linger till thy waves are clear.
Thou heedest not--thou hastest on;
From steep to steep thy torrent falls,
Till, mingling with the mighty Rhone,
It rests beneath Geneva's walls.

Rush on--but were there one with me
That loved me, I would light my hearth
Here, where with God's own majesty
Are touched the features of the earth.
By these old peaks, white, high, and vast,
Still rising as the tempests beat,
Here would I dwell, and sleep, at last,
Among the blossoms at their feet.

poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Across The Ocean

traveled through the lost
showered in the mist
purple skies blue
sparks among the ocean
whistles the wind
as the sand twirl
birds fly in the same direction
peeked in the sunset
spot the light
ocean waves slow motion
dolphins speaks
suddenly butterflies in my stomach
tikkles me
the enviroment vanished
as the light seem to get smaller
the ocean wave moves faster
sun falls alseep
awaken the night
butterflies cross the ocean
while im burried in shock
missing you
across the ocean

poem by James Bost
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Arethusa

I.
Arethusa arose
From her couch of snows
In the Acroceraunian mountains,--
From cloud and from crag,
With many a jag,
Shepherding her bright fountains.
She leapt down the rocks,
With her rainbow locks
Streaming among the streams;--
Her steps paved with green
The downward ravine
Which slopes to the western gleams;
And gliding and springing
She went, ever singing,
In murmurs as soft as sleep;
The Earth seemed to love her,
And Heaven smiled above her,
As she lingered towards the deep.

II.
Then Alpheus bold,
On his glacier cold,
With his trident the mountains strook;
And opened a chasm
In the rocks—with the spasm
All Erymanthus shook.
And the black south wind
It unsealed behind
The urns of the silent snow,
And earthquake and thunder
Did rend in sunder
The bars of the springs below.
And the beard and the hair
Of the River-god were
Seen through the torrent’s sweep,
As he followed the light
Of the fleet nymph’s flight
To the brink of the Dorian deep.

III.
'Oh, save me! Oh, guide me!
And bid the deep hide me,
For he grasps me now by the hair!'
The loud Ocean heard,
To its blue depth stirred,
And divided at her prayer;
And under the water
The Earth’s white daughter
Fled like a sunny beam;
Behind her descended
Her billows, unblended
With the brackish Dorian stream:—
Like a gloomy stain
On the emerald main
Alpheus rushed behind,--
As an eagle pursuing
A dove to its ruin
Down the streams of the cloudy wind.

IV.
Under the bowers
Where the Ocean Powers
Sit on their pearled thrones;
Through the coral woods
Of the weltering floods,
Over heaps of unvalued stones;
Through the dim beams
Which amid the streams
Weave a network of coloured light;
And under the caves,
Where the shadowy waves
Are as green as the forest’s night:--
Outspeeding the shark,
And the sword-fish dark,
Under the Ocean’s foam,
And up through the rifts
Of the mountain clifts
They passed to their Dorian home.

V.
And now from their fountains
In Enna’s mountains,
Down one vale where the morning basks,
Like friends once parted
Grown single-hearted,
They ply their watery tasks.
At sunrise they leap
From their cradles steep
In the cave of the shelving hill;
At noontide they flow
Through the woods below
And the meadows of asphodel;
And at night they sleep
In the rocking deep
Beneath the Ortygian shore;--
Like spirits that lie
In the azure sky
When they love but live no more.

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Thomas Campbell

As musings on Banks of Canadian Thames doth not necessarily consist of
meditations in verse, but the monotony of the cogitations may be relieved by a
soliloquy in prose, and as Campbell manifested a deep interest in American subjects,
we will give the following anecdote related by that genial American Author Washington
Irvine, to Sir Walter Scott. Irvine, while in Britian, visited Campbell, but found him absent
and he expressed a regret to Campbells wife that her husband did not write more. She said
that he was timid and he felt Byron and Scott o'ershadow him with their great poems. Sir
Walter replied, ' I myself produce pebbles, Scottish pebbles, but Campbell is the creator of
Diamonds of the first water.' Byron also expressed himself in a similar strain as follows :-

'Arise, O Campbell, give thy talents scope ;
Who dares aspire if thou has ceased to hope '

Campbell wrote thus of America in the beginning of the century, and by comparing the facts
as he describes them it shows the wonderous strides which the United States, especially,
have taken on the Banks of Lake Erie, as Lake Ontario seems to be favorite location for
Canadian cities.

On Erie's banks were tigers steal along,
And the dread Indian chaunts his dismal song.
Where human fiends their midnight errand walk ;
And bathe in brains the murderous tomehawk.

The poet then predicts that cities will there arise, but more wonderfully quick they have
arisen then poets pen ever imagined. The poet also imagines the time will come when the
fleecy flocks will be straying o'er the thymey pastures and the shepherds dancing at early
morn and dewy eve, but alas, these predictions have never been verified, for the lands on
Erie's shores are too valuable for sheep walks, and it is no Arcadian bower where the
romance of the dreamy imaginations of the ancient philosophers are being enacted, but a
vigorous, intelligent, and industrious population have arisen, who have built villages,
towns and cities along its shores. But the foundation of the whole prosperity is the
intelligent, well directed industry of the farming population.

Their industry is not in vain,
For they have bounteous crops of grain,
And you behold on every field
Of grass and roots, abundant yield ;
But after all the greatest charm
Is the snug home upon the farm.
And stone walls now keep cattle warm,
The cold blast now doth them no harm.

poem by James McIntyre
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I Hate My Phone

Have you ever had a phone?
That you couldn’t stand?
If you have, you are not alone.
My phone doesn’t like to follow my command!

My phone hates me!
I hate it!
I would love to throw it in the sea,
But, my life would be gone I have to admit!

I hate my phone!
What can I do?
If only another one I could own.
Another phone I need, but it should be new.

If I get a new phone it will need,
A camera that pictures and video it takes,
Unlimited texting is what we agreed.
I have no time for mistakes!

Also, I would need free long distance,
In case there is someone I want to call that is not where I am,
No, I don’t need any assistance.
For my new phone, all I have to say is DANG!

My new phone will be the envy of everyone,
Everyone will want mine,
To bad that they don’t get it, I’m the only one,
There is no need to whine!

Go Ocean, Go Ocean, Go Ocean!
That’s what they’ll be saying!
I and my phone will be all the rage and commotion!
Everyone will be around me and no, nobody will be playing!

I hate my phone,
I need a new one,
I know I’m not alone,
To have the greatest and newest phone would be fun!

Go Ocean, Go Ocean, Go Ocean! ! ! !
I still hate my phone!
Ha, this poem is long because of a motion!
Ha, I got many problems, luckily I’m not alone!

I Hate My Phone! ! !

poem by Ocean Myranda
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The ocean births the infants

The ocean births the infants
Just like you or me;
The tide tears free umbilici
And blots them, with seaweed.

The ocean bathes the babies
In rivulets green and blue;
And scrubs them gently too, with sand
Just like we might do.

The ocean rocks the children
To sleep, in stormy seas;
Then whirls them down, to deeper depths-
Where they are never seen.

The ocean buries children
Without one word or tear,
And leaves their hapless bodies
To schools of mermaids there.

poem by Patti Masterman
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The Healing Wind

In this healing wind
all our scars of the
past are blown away,
torn away and scattered
around the earth,
and all our demons are
lifted and carried off
in the vortex of
the wind funnel
till there is nothing
left but these rocks
and the ocean,
and our hearts feel
at peace once more,
as our eyes
scan the distant horizon,
where the ocean
meets the night sky,
where the moon
hangs low, casting
its tremulous glow
upon the water.

In this healing wind
all our thoughts
are scattered in the
silent multitude of stars
that shine upon us
like new blossoms…
yes, I know we've been
through a lot
all these years,
and the loneliness
and the pain
seemed unbearable
at times,
but you don't have
to say a thing to me
right now,
because the healing wind
turned it all around,
gave us new hope
and new purpose
and new sails-
and breathing in
this cool night air,
we feel renewed
and alive again,
as we return
to what we always
knew as our home,
resting upon these
rocks, as the ocean
waves gently baptize
our feet.

poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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Waterfall

Smooth to the shelving brink a copious flood
Rolls fair and placid: where collected all,
In one impetuous torrent down the steep
It thundering shoots, and shakes the country round.
At first, an azure sheet, it rushes broad;
Then whitening by degrees, as prone it falls,
And from the loud-resounding rocks below,
Dash'd in a cloud of foam, it sends aloft
A hoary mist, and forms a ceaseless shower.
Nor can the tortured wave here find repose:
But, raging still amid the shaggy rocks,
Now flashes o'er the scatter'd fragments, now
Aslant the hollow channel rapid darts;
And falling fast from gradual slope to slope,
With wild infracted course, and lessen'd roar,
It gains a safer bed, and steals, at last,
Along the mazes of a quiet vale.

poem by James Thomson
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The Man

Here comes he! The fool with sword
He don't know the language of pen
He purchased the cock for the Eggs
Requested him, please bring the Hen/
Flood of Blood is my desire, shouted
‘Mightiest man of mightiest world'
When yelled his tongue sprouted
And suddenly into the den it hurled//

poem by Aftab Alam Khursheed
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The Inca

'Tis eve, the sun is sinking in the lake—

The lake, all glorious with his golden beams,

Whose calm clear breast reflects the mountains back

That raise their huge heads to the varied clouds.

The trees and flowers that grow along its banks

Smile in the lucid mirror. Every bough

Is vocal with the song of glittering birds,

Whose plumes are borrow'd from the rainbow's hues;

No other sound disturbs the silent air,

Although a prostrate nation is around,

Watching the last rays of the setting sun

In solemn and in graceful adoration.

The purple clouds grow deeper, deeper still,

Till the resplendent orb is seen no more;

But where he sunk upon the bright lake's margin

Appear two forms, majestic and erect,

Cloth'd in rich garments, hand in hand.

They come!

Onward they come across the yielding waters,

That give them passage!

Now they reach the shore!

While with glad shouts the people rend the skies—

"All hail, ye mighty Children of the Sun!"

poem by Louisa Stuart Costello
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When the Evening Star Went Down

The morning was fearful at sea--
The voyagers weary and pale;
Their steamer a wreck, from keel to deck,
Before an Autumnal gale.
Old Neptune came forth in power--
He wore on his features a frown;
And many a guest he took to rest,
When the "Evening Star" went down.

They sleep in a fathomless grave,
The guest and the mariner brave;
They pillow their heads on coral beds,
Beneath the blue ocean waves,
Beneath the blue ocean waves.

Sail'd ever a ship from her quay,
So heavily laden as she,
With folly and fame, with hope and shame,
With vanity, mirth and glee?
But in the dark moment that came,
How useless were rank and renown!
And honors of earth, what were they worth,
When the "Evening Star" went down.

The treacherous ocean is calm--
No longer in storm billows toss's;
Yet darkness and cloud will long enshroud
The hearts that were link'd with the lost.
In how many, how many homes,
Far distant, in country or town,
A light was put out, in dread, in doubt,
When the "Evening Star" when down.

poem by Henry Clay Work
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Ocean Breeze

As I look out at the ocean
As I drive down the coast,
All I can see is a little bit of white and the rest nothing but blue,
Only thing that this scene can bring is nothing bad, but to boast.

By this bringing nothing, but the deep beauty to me and you.
Enjoying everything such as the white waves crashing into the rocks at the ocean,
And feeling the Ocean Breeze as it shot past us further than anything else can reach.
This is when all you can hear is nothing but water as it is motion.

Causing me to want get out of the car and walk down on the beach,
And to the foam builds up as the wave starts to hits its crest.
As the beach sand stuck to the bottom of my feet,
Or as I stopped and dug down in the sand to search for that sunken treasure chest.

Feeling that wave
Or as it knocked you over down on your seat.
This something that a lot of people will never hear or see.
And this is why the Ocean Breeze and Scene means so much me
By Frank Pulver

poem by Frank Pulver
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