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IVIAY }i7 ItA^ 
 
LIS'J' OF THE AUTHOR'S POEMS. 
 
 Hopeset and Sunrise 
 
 Our Nation's Dead 
 
 Eden-Blossom 
 
 The Realms of Sleep 
 
 The Measure of a Man 
 
 The New Papa 
 
 Florence May 
 
 Revery-Time 
 
 Legitimate Fruit 
 
 April 
 
 The Compass 
 
 A City of Nests 
 
 The Valley of Rest 
 
 Milton 
 
 Southern Bivouac 
 
 United Service 
 
 (iood Housekeeping 
 
 . 111. Chris. Weekly 
 
 Boston Pilot 
 
 Babyhood 
 
 Our Little Ones 
 
 Chris. Register 
 
 Arthur's Home Mag. 
 
 Godey's 
 
 Demarest's 
 
 Cottage Hearth 
 
 The Household 
 
 Literary Life 
 
 ^"==^ 
 
 Washington Monument : An Ode 
 
 Wash. Chronicle 
 Niagara Falls . . Brooklyn Mag. 
 

 
 33 
 
 RIPPLE BROOK 
 
 NIAGARA FALLS 
 
 BV ly^ 
 
 JASPER BARNETT COWDIN 
 
 BROOKLYN, N. Y. 
 D. S. HOLMES, PUBLISHER 
 Fourth Street 
 1886 
 
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 Copyright, 1886, /n-/. j9. Cvwdiii. 
 All rights reserved. 
 
HE name, fame and trumpet of no great literary figure 
 being called into requisition, these 
 children of song (twins, yet not 
 alike) must go forth unannounced, 
 in the hope of attracting a few 
 listeners to one who believes he has 
 something to sing about, and is 
 anxious to do it in the best manner. 
 Quality before quantity is the aim ot 
 the author ; yet his portfolio is not 
 exhausted by these specimens, and 
 a larger volume would be the result 
 of sufficient encouragement. 
 

 
 ^«^i 
 
RIPPLE BROOK. 
 
KIPPLE BROOK. 
 
 Yes, I dimple, dimple, dimple, 
 
 Ripple, ripple, ripple, 
 Where the drooping woods may stipple 
 On m)' breast the shadow-play 
 Of the light leaves in tlutter, 
 Vainly trying to re-utter 
 My sweet ditty. How they mutter 
 As 1 lau^^h and whirl away ! 
 
 Our quaint little niece, Miss Wren, 
 
 Visits m ' oft in the glen. 
 
 Dibbling with jaunty grace 
 
 In her cnie familiar place. 
 
 Where I run my liveliest race. 
 
 Chiming past roots and rocks. 
 
 Sir Robin calls me a chatterbox ; 
 
 But I am the favorite brook 
 
 With all wise little birds; each nook 
 
 They know, and their wings they cool 
 
 With the silver drops of yon pool. 
 
Woods green from April's visit, 
 
 Filled with the breath exquisite 
 
 Of grasses rare, I love : 
 
 I am the glass they bend above ; 
 
 Lilac and daisy-star, 
 
 I show them what they are, 
 
 A beautiful meek sisterhood, 
 
 The quietest tenants of this wood. 
 
 Ambitious to become a flower. 
 
 Along my banks at every hour 
 
 Some bud is born, whose hiding shv 
 
 Is ftjund out by a butterfly. 
 
 When summer fills the meadows wide 
 
 The soft winds push the boughs aside 
 
 To let the sun look in at me 
 
 And hearken to my melody. 
 
 Soon am I coaxed from my retreat 
 
 To thread his lanes of rich brown wheat. 
 
Indeed, all pleasant things I know 
 Point out so man}'^ ways to go, — 
 
 I must dimple, dimple, dimple. 
 
 Ripple, ripple, ripple, 
 Where the drooping woods may stipple 
 On my breast the shadow-play 
 Of the light leaves in flutter. 
 Vainly trying to re-utter 
 My sweet ditty. How they mutter 
 As I chatter and patter away I 
 
 The crickets chant their lone delights 
 
 Around me in still August nights. 
 
 When all along my leafy turns 
 
 The firefly's golden atom burns. 
 
 Then comes to drink my dainty pet 
 
 The wild deer: like a statuette 
 
 He stands, until some meteor's flight 
 
 lightens the whole wide face of night 
 
 With sudden flash ; swift off he bounds, 
 
 His delicate feet making light sounds. 
 
 Ail night upon my trembling breast 
 
 1 rock the baby-stars to rest : 
 
 They leave me when the sunbeams yearn 
 
 j'o frolic with me in their turn. 
 
The white-clad months which He between 
 
 October's gold and April's green 
 
 Hang chains of silver all along 
 
 My sylvan curves, and hush my song. 
 
 Winter starlight, cold and keen. 
 
 Makes bright the palace I am in ; 
 
 Yet chiefly do I love the spring, 
 
 For then my voice is free to sing. 
 
 The birds have no philosophy 
 
 To make them happy, neither I ; 
 
 Whatever good I may be bringing, 
 
 I think I was simply made for singing. 
 
 So I dimple, dimple, dimple. 
 Ripple, ripple, ripple, 
 Where the drooping woods may stipple 
 On my breast the shadow-play 
 Of the light leaves in flutter, 
 Vainly tr3'ing to re-utter 
 My sweet ditt)^ How they mutter 
 As I laugh and whirl away ! 
 
M^AGMA rAlsL^. 
 
MIAC^AKA FALLjS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Solemnly, slowly, tlie vast weiglit of falling 
 Waters the voice of a spirit immortal 
 Drowns, — and he stands, as a Heaven's great portal. 
 Humbled in sight of his low earthly calling. 
 Man hath no glory here ; 
 Watching in silence thy soul-waking wonder, 
 O Niagara ! — hearing thv thunder, 
 
 Pride must not come near. 
 
-0- 
 
 II. 
 
 Daily the magical gold incandescent 
 
 Sun makes thee glimmer, a gold-falling shower ; 
 Nightly the silver-clad moon tries her power, 
 Changing thy dense rain of gems to liquescent 
 Moonlight, that sparkling falls 
 In goblets upheld by spray-queens at revel, 
 Who shout with delight at the white downheaval 
 On their frail mist halls. 
 
 -0- 
 
III. 
 
 At the first shadowy dawn, when an angel 
 
 Looked from the shadow-land first on earth's sflorv 
 Eager to tell th}- magnificent story, 
 Thou had'st already begun thine evangel. 
 Sheer from the cliff, half mist, 
 Thy waters leapt with the lightness of passion — 
 Leapt to the lake, and in amorous fashion 
 Its blue bosom kissed. 
 
 -0- 
 
IV. 
 
 They saw the experiment trial of sunrise 
 
 Waken the young, dewy lids of the morning ; 
 Witnessed the sun's rude attempt at adorning 
 His western cloud-canopy, taught by the One wise, 
 Great Artist in color ; 
 Saw the strange moon look down in white wonder, 
 While, through the night watches, rolled the deep thundc 
 Richer and fuller. 
 
-0- 
 
 V. 
 
 Time from his cradle-song went to the reaping ;- 
 Onward the centuries roll to their falling 
 Into Oblivion's deep. Yet appalling 
 As ever, thy power, its wild youth keeping, 
 
 Thunder and smoke downpours ! — 
 Far from Ontario, recreant wooer ! 
 But sending thy voice and white kisses to her 
 Through thy sculptured shores. 
 
 -0- 
 
-0- 
 
 VI. 
 
 \\'^ho were the mystical sons of creation 
 
 First to discover, bow down and adore thee, 
 
 Long ere the Indian, awestruck before thee, 
 
 1 leard from the tall rock thy weird incantation ? 
 
 Monstrous forms of wild life 
 
 Came from the deep savage forest to listen ; 
 
 Fearless gray eagles, with wings all a-glisten. 
 
 Plunged amid tliy strife ! 
 
 -o- 
 
 --^ — 
 
-0- 
 
 VII. 
 
 Vanished the Mound Builders, leaving dim traces 
 Of their past glory ; the Indian faded — 
 His long-fallen armies slumber degraded 
 Along thy murmuring shores — and weird faces 
 Rapid Fancy can see, 
 Countless and brown as the leaves of November : 
 Mingled they lie with the mammal's white membtr 
 And fossil of tree. 
 
 <«. 
 
-0- 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Chant of the cataract, never out-dying, 
 
 Voice like the Deathless One, constantly sending 
 • Music far down the dim canyon, soft blending 
 With dreams of the dead in the vale low-lying — 
 Grown accustomed to hear 
 Thy soothing lullaby thrcnigh the long ages, 
 The thrilled cyclopean forms of old sages 
 Lend a throbbing ear. 
 
 -0- 
 
-o- 
 
 IX. 
 
 vShould thy wild avalanche pause for a season, 
 
 Dim crowding faces would start up from slumber. 
 Out from long galleries look without number, 
 Anxiously look up the gorge for the reason 
 Of this, their strange unrest ; 
 Wondering at the dead silence around them, 
 Grumbling at the rude shock which unbound them 
 And left them unblest. 
 
 -0- 
 
_««> 
 
 0- 
 
 X. 
 
 Dies not thy deafening peal of divineness, 
 
 Till the dread trumpeter from his high station 
 Calls ft)r the curtain of black desolation 
 To cover the world and its tragical finis 
 In the night-hush of death. 
 Dread the solemnity, then, of all regions, 
 The world-drama ended, its skeleton legions 
 Sleeping without breath. 
 
 16 
 
 tfti_- 
 
 -O- 
 
0- 
 
 XI. 
 
 Now is thy Iriumph-liour, crescent of madness ! 
 Sweeping terrific in lofty descension 
 Down on my weak speck of humbled pretension. 
 Crushed like a swallow and drowned in thy gladness 
 Lost under mightiest wave ! — 
 Struggling yet bravely to keep my immortal 
 Spark in full sight, lest I faint at the portal 
 Of my vanquished grave. 
 
 -O- 
 
XII. 
 
 Frail my mortality looks in thy presence ; 
 Yet, if I deemed that the God of all glory 
 Cared more for thee and thy wonderful story 
 Thixn for my handful of dust, all my pleasance 
 With Him would be at jar. 
 Off and away with the sorrowful presage ! 
 The Man-God whispers within me this message 
 " Thou art dearer far." 
 
 iS 
 
 -0 
 
-0 
 
 xrii. 
 
 At the euthanasy-hour of creation 
 
 Thou shalt behold the last picture unfolden, 
 The sun's masterpiece on his cloud-canvas golden, 
 His last grand splendor of gold and carnation, 
 While my blind dust sleeps on — 
 Thou shalt be dead when I waken ecstatic! 
 Thy sun-given arch of glory prismatic 
 Fade before mv crown ! 
 
 19 
 
 -0- 
 
XIV. 
 
 AVlien the earth's jewel-kin cease from their shiniiii 
 Perished the Hglit over valley and river, 
 Thou shalt be silent, oh, silent forever, 
 Ere my long paean hath scarce had beginning I 
 Around the song-swept Shrine 
 No hint of thy littleness ever shall wander. 
 Impressive, jubilant thunders, far grander, 
 Fall from lips divine ! 
 
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