"What troops of tourists have encamped upon the river's brink; What poets shed from countless quills Niagaras of ink; What artist armies tried to fix the evanescent bow Of the 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 anger to and fro: But the waters fall as once they fell two hundred years ago. "And brides of every age and clime frequent the island's bower, And gaze from off the stone-built perch--hence called the Bridal Tower-- And many a lunar belle goes forth to meet a lunar beau, By the waters falling as they fell two hundred years ago. "And bridges bind thy breast, O stream! and buzzing mill-wheels turn, To show, like Samson, thou art forced thy daily bread to earn: And steamers splash thy milk-white waves, exulting as they go, But the waters fall as once they fell two hundred years ago. "Thy banks no longer are the same that early travelers found them, But break and crumble now and then like other banks around them; And on their verge our life sweeps on--alternate joy and woe; But the waters fall as once they fell two hundred years ago. "Thus phantoms of a by-gone age have melted like the spray, And in our turn we too shall pass, the phantoms of to-day: But the armies of the coming time shall watch the ceaseless flow Of waters falling as they fell two hundred years ago." On turning to the more serious poems that have been written on the theme, the reader naturally experiences a feeling of disappointment that a scene which has filled and charmed so many eyes should have found so few interpreters. Only those who see Niagara know how fast the tongue is bound when the thought struggles most for utterance. One who seems to have experienced this feeling thus expresses it: "I came to see; I thought to write; I am but----dumb." The late Mr. Willis G. Clark thus expands the same sentiment: "Here speaks the voice of God--let man be dumb, Nor with his vain aspiring hither come. That voice impels the hollow-sounding floods, And like a Presence fills the distant woods. These groaning rocks the Almighty's finger piled; For ages here his painted bow has smiled, Mocking the changes and the chance of time-- Eternal, beautiful, serene, sublime!" The following from the Table Rock Album was written by the late Lord Morpeth: NIAGARA FALLS.--BY LORD MORPETH.