Niagara [pp. 21-22]

SOUTHERN LITERARY MIESSENGER.
21
"le grand tigre royal," has been successively "le jardin
du roi-de l'emperieur and du roi, according to the changes
undergone by the government. But here again I am at
fault to know what to communicate to you, that in all
probability you have not read before. Every one must
be fully aware that this magnificent spot contains one
of the richest collection of flowers and plants n the
world-a riuseuni of vast extent-a menagerie and an
aviary that seem to contain every beast and bird in
creation. The animals are scattered about the Garden
in every direction-those of the fiercer kind confined in
strong cages, and the gentler species in enclosures-so
that in walking, about in it you could almost fancy yourself Adam in the Garden of Eden. Of all the creatuires
in the menagerie, the Giraffe is the one that attracts
the most notice, and it is certainly a most singular and
beautiful animal. When it first arrived it set all Paris
crazy-every thing became a la Giraffe, in the same
manner as every thingwithl us was t La Fayette, after
the visit of the illustrious General to our country. With
its hinder parts nearly touching the ground, and its head
almost brushing the heavens, it would be scarcely too
bold a figure to call it an emblem of Fame-" Parva
primo, mox sese attollit in auras, ingrediturque solo, et
caput inter nubila condit." Its skin beautifully spotted,
its delicate neck longer than its whole body, its exquisitely formed limbs, combined with its innocent look
and unique shape, render it a thing to be gazed upon
again and again with renewed gratification.
There is something exceedingly calculated to excite
feelings of gloom, in the perambulation of the streets of
a great city amidst vast crowds of fellow beings, without seeing among them a single face upon which a look
of recognition can be bestowed. If ever I experienced
the full power of those malignant fiends that take
especial delight in persecuting travellers-blue devils I
mean-it was in walking about Paris after my curiosity
had been satisfied to such an extent as to allow other
feelings to operate. No solitude, it has been justly said,
is so dreary as that of a crowd, and I completely realized the truth of the remark when I found myself wandering an isolated being amid the immense multitudes
of the Boulevards. How distressingly, likewise, does a
stranger, in a population of nearly a million, become
impressed with the idea of his individual insignificance!
It is when placed in such a position that the lessons of
humility sink most deeply in his mind; that he is made
most sensible of what inconsiderable importance his
existence is in the world-how small a drop hlie is in
the great ocean of life. But it is time to bid you adieu
for the piresent.
NIAGARA.
'Twas Summer, blessed Summner, and the noon's re splendent hour,
The festal time of glory in Niagara's dark bower,
And spirit-forms seem'd gathering, and spirit-voices
there
Seem'd echoing through the solitudes, and ringing in
the air.
SPIRIT OF TIHE TORRENT.
I am King! I am King! where the green tide never
sleeps,
Where, adown the crescent-rock, the resistless torrent
sweeps,
Where billows, friom the fathomless and unsearch'd
gulph below,
Like an eternal fountain's jet, exhaustless waters thi'row;
'Tis there I wield my sceptre, and in majesty I reign,
And trembles at my voice of power, Niagara's domain.
SPIRlIT OF BEAUTY.
Where the bright Bow's radiant flish
Spans the roaring torrents' rush,
Till each changeful, quivering ray
Melts in tintless mist away;
Where the white foam, rising high,
Catches splendor from the sky,
Changing still, and still the same,
Glorious forms without a name;
Where the firagile wild-flow'r springs,
Like a thing with life and wings,
Midway the eternal wall,
That meets the eternal torrents' fall,
And frolics in the wild wind's play,
And spreads its bosom to the spray,
As fearlessly as though it knew
No Muse but Zephyr, Shower and Dew;
Bath'd in light, and throned in air,
Sceptred Genius, I am there;
See my Coronet, and own
I am Queen, and here's my Throne.
SPIRIT OF SOLITUDE.
Rush on, rush wildly on, proud forest-flood!
Leap the bold rocks, rush through the sounding wood;
Your deep-toned voice breaks not my realm's repose,
But o'er my reign, sublime, a solemn grandeur throws.
From shuddering nature's hand, the fearful steep,
Madly ye plung'd, "deep calling unto deep,"
Wildly and loud in my sole listening ear,
While, undisputed King, I fix'd my empire here.
Rush, forest-winds! Fit music for my ear,
The torrent's roar, the wind's deep howlings here;
Meet scenes, meet sounds, grace here my hallowed
reign,
Meet Genius I, to rule Niagara's domain.
SPIRIT OF POESY.
There is a world of Glory in this place!
Those massive rocks that meet the torrent's shock,
"So high that they are dreadful;'> that bold flood,
Making loud mock, in its eternal roar,
Of Man's weak days and few; this dark-leaved wood,
Prisoning the winds, and that celestial Bow,
Calm o'er the torrent as the summer's twilight
Over the ruin'd world,-O they are vast,
And beautiful as vast. Why wake ye not
To song-rapt song, and melody, my Lyre?
Is there no inspiration in this scene
To move ye to make music? Ah, that dash
Of the full flood, drown'd the poor strain that sought
To find its way from your vibrating chords.