The Catterskill Falls From Below

The Catterskill Falls, From Below

Reproduced from a 7¼"x 4¾' Steel Engraving

from a Drawing by W.H. Bartlett

The Catterskill Falls From Below is Print # 1 of 53 from

Volume II "AMERICAN SCENERY" or LAND,LAKE, AND RIVER

Published in 1839 by George Virtue, 26 Ivy Lane, London

NOTE: This is a exact copy of the original 1839 text describing the above Print, from "AMERICAN SCENERY" Volume II 

from the precipice whence our first view of this Fall is taken, the descent is steep and slippery to the very brink of the torrent, which it is necessary to cross on the wild blocks which lie scattered in its rocky bed. From thence, literally buried in forest foliage, the tourist will enjoy a very different, but, perhaps, more striding and picturesque view than the other. The stream, at a vast height above him, is seen leaping from ledge to ledge—sometimes lost, sometimes sparkling in sunshine, till it courses impetuously beneath the rock on which he is seated, and is lost in the deep unbroken obscurity of the forest. The rocky ledges above, worn by time, have the appearance of deep caverns, and beautifully relieve the fall of the light and silvery stream. In the winter, the rast icicles which are suspended from the ledges of rock, and shine like pillars against the deep obscurity of the caverns behind, afford a most romantic spectacle, one which has afforded a subject to Bryant for one of the most imaginative of his poems.

THE CATTERSKILL FALLS.

"Midst greens and shades the Catterskill leaps

    From cliffs where the wood-flower clings;

All summer he moistens his verdant steeps

    With the sweet light spray of the mountain springs;

And he shakes the woods on the mountain side,

When they drip with the rains of autumn-tide.

"But when, in the forest bare and old,

    The blast of December calls,

He builds, in the starlight clear and cold,

    A palace of ice where his torrent falls,

With turret, and arch, and fretwork fair,

And pillars blue as the summer air.

"For whom are those glorious chambers wrought,

    In the cold and cloudless night ?

Is there neither spirit nor motion of thought

    In forms so lovely and hues so bright?

Hear what the grey-haired woodmen tell

Of this wild stream, and its rocky dell.

"Twas hither a youth of dreamy mood,

     A hundred winters ago,

Had wandered over the mighty wood,

    When the panther's track was fresh on the snow;

And keen were the winds that came to stir

The long dark boughs of the hemlock fir.

"Too gentle of mien he seemed, and fair,

    For a child of those rugged steeps;

His home lay low in the valley, where

    The kingly Hudson rolls to the deeps ;

But he wore the hunter's frock that day,

And a slender gun on his shoulder lay.

"And here he paused, and against the trunk

    Of a tall grey linden leant,

When the broad clear orb of the sun had sunk

    From his path in the frosty firmament,

And over the round dark edge of the hill

A cold green light was quivering still.

"And the crescent moon, high over the green,

    From a sky of crimson shone,

On that icy palace, whose towers were seen

    To sparkle as if with stars of their own;

While the water fell, with a hollow sound,

'Twixt the glistening pillars ranged around.

"Is that a being of life, that moves

    Where the crystal battlements rise ?

A maiden, watching the moon she loves,

    At the twilight hour, with pensive eyes ?

Was that a garment which seemed to gleam

Betwixt the eye and the falling stream ?

The  Catterskill Falls From Above The Ravine

Reproduced from a 7¼"x 4¾' Steel Engraving

from a Drawing by W.H. Bartlett

Catterskill Falls From Above The Ravine is Print # 2 of 53 from

Volume II "AMERICAN SCENERY" or LAND,LAKE, AND RIVER

Published in 1839 by George Virtue, 26 Ivy Lane, London

NOTE: This is a exact copy of the original 1839 text describing the above Print, from "AMERICAN SCENERY" Volume II 

THE   CATTERSKILL   FALLS.

"Tis only the torrent tumbling o'er,

    In the midst of those glassy walls,

Gushing, and plunging, and beating the floor

    Of the rocky basin in which it falls :

'Tis only the torrent—but why that start ?

Why gazes the youth with a throbbing heart ?

"He thinks no more of his home afar,

    Where his sire and sister wait;

He heeds no longer how star after star

    Looks forth on the night, as the hour grows late.

He heeds not the snow-wreath, lifted and cast

From a thousand boughs, by the rising blast.

"His thoughts are alone of those who dwell

     In the halls of frost and snow,

Who pass where the crystal domes upswell

    From the alabaster floors below,

Where the frost-trees bourgeon with leaf and spray,

And frost-gems scatter a silvery day.

"And oh that those glorious haunts were mine!'

    He speaks, and throughout the glen

Their shadows swim in the faint moonshine,

    And take a ghastly likeness of men,

As if the slain by the wintry storms

Came forth to the air in their earthly forms.

"There pass the chasers of seal and whale,

     With their weapons quaint and grim,

And bands of warriors in glimmering mail,

     And herdsmen and hunters huge of lirnb—

There are naked arms, with bow and spear,

And furry gauntlets the carbine rear.

"There are mothers—and oh, how sadly their eyes

    On their children's white brows rest!

There are youthful lovers—the maiden lies

    In a seeming sleep on the chosen breast;

There are fair wan women with moon-struck air,

The snow-stars flecking their long loose hair.

''They eye him not as they pass along,

    But his hair stands up with dread,

When he feels that he moves with that phantom throng,

    Till those icy turrets are over his head,

And the torrent's roar, as they enter, seems

Like a drowsy murmur heard in dreams.

"The glittering threshold is scarcely passed,

    When there gathers and wraps him round

A thick white twilight, sullen and vast,

    In which there is neither form nor sound;

The phantoms, the glory, vanish all,

With the dying voice of the waterfall.

"Slow passes the darkness of that trance,

    And the youth now faintly sees

Huge shadows and gushes of light that dance

    On a rugged ceiling of unhewn trees,

And walls where the skins of beasts are hung,

And rifles glitter on antlers strung.

"On a couch of shaggy skins he lies;

    As he strives to raise his head, ^;

 Hard-featured woodmen, with kindly eyes

    Come round him and smooth his furry bed,

And bid him rest, for the evening star

Is scarcely set, and the day is far.

"They had found at eve the dreaming one,

    By the base of that icy steep,

When over his stiffening limbs begun

    The deadly slumber of frost to creep;

And they cherished the pale and breathless form,

Till the stagnant blood ran free and warm."