Classic Poem

High on the cliffs tremendous side,
That frowning hangs o'er Avon's tide,
Three lasses chanc'd to stray;
To pluck the casual flowerets bent,
Regardless of the rough ascent,
They wound their dangerous way.

Till slowly mounted to the height,
They turn'd their view in wild affright,
And shuddering mark'd the steep:
O! then, what grief bedew'd each eye,
To think one slip, one step awry,
Might plunge them in the deep!

A priest, whom soft emotions press
To succour damsels in distress,
That instant trod the shore:
With happy strength and steady pace,
Safe to the rock's time-moulder'd base
Each trembling nymph he bore.

Learn then this truth;—the careless hour
May seek a gay, but treacherous flower,
Whose honey turns to gall:
While the kind parson's timely aid
May rescue many a tottering maid,
And—save from many a fall.