We do not know the exact date of its composition, but it must have been before 1825, for it appeared in the author's first collection of verse published in that year. It was written one raw March evening in an emergency, to make copy for the next morning's paper. Goodrich tells the story. Brainard was half ill with a cold and Goodrich went over with him to the "Mirror" office and started a fire in the Franklin stove, while his companion, miserable and depressed, talked at random, abhorring the compulsion that made writing a necessity and his procrastination that had postponed his work, till the last moment. "Some time passed," says Goodrich, "in similar talk, when at last Brainard turned suddenly, took up his pen and began to write. I sat apart and left him to his work. Some twenty minutes passed, when, with a radiant smile on his face, he got up, approached the fire, and, taking the candle to light his paper, he read as follows: THE FALL OF NIAGARA. 'The thoughts are strange that crowd into my brain, While I look upward to thee. It would seem As if God pour'd thee from his 'hollow hand.' And hung his bow upon thy awful front; And spoke in that loud voice, which seem'd to him Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour's sake, 'The sound of many waters'; and had bade Thy flood to chronicle the ages back. And notch his cent'ries in the eternal rocks.' "He had hardly done reading when the [printer's] boy came. Brainard handed him the lines--on a small scrap of rather coarse paper--and told him to come again in half an hour. Before this time had elapsed, he had finished, read me the following stanza: 'Deep calleth unto deep. And what are we, That hear the question of that voice sublime? Oh, what are all the notes that ever rung From war's vain trumpet by thy thundering side? Yea, what is all the riot man can make, In his short life, to thy unceasing roar? And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him Who drown'd a world, and heap'd the waters far Above its loftiest mountains?--a light wave, That breathes and whispers of its Maker's might.' "These lines having been furnished, Brainard left his office and we returned to Miss Lucy's parlor. He seemed utterly unconscious of what he had done. . . . The lines went forth and produced a sensation of delight over the whole country." It is not too much to say that Niagara brought Brainard fame. To the modern ear inured to free verse its lines may sound perhaps a trifle over sonorous and formal. But it has real poetic eloquence and inspiration. Brainard had never been within less than five hundred miles of the great falls.