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."
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