Classic Poem

Which hanging, pent-house-like, does overlook
The dreadful Channel of the rapid Brook,
So deep, and black, the very thought does make
My brains turn giddy, and my eye-balls ake.
Over this dangerous Precipice you crawl,
Lost if you slip, for if you slip you fall;
But whither, faith 'tis no great matter, when
Y'are sure ne'er to be seen alive agen.
Propt round with Peasants , on you trembling go,
Whilst, every step you take, your Guides do show
In the uneven Rock the uncouth shapes
Of Men , of Lions, Horses, Dogs , and Apes :
But so resembling each the fancied shape,
The Man might be the Horse , the Dog the Ape .
And straight just in your way a stone appears,
Which the resemblance of a Hay-cock bears,
Some four foot high, and beyond that a less
Of the same Figure; which do still increase
In height, and bulk, by a continual drop,
Which upon each distilling from the top,
And falling still exactly on the Crown,
There break themselves to mists, which trickling down,
Crust into stone, and (but with leasure) swell
The sides, and still advance the Miracle.
So that in time, they would be tall enough,
If there were need, to prop the hanging Roof,
Did not sometimes the curious visiters,
To steal a treasure, is not justly theirs,
Break off much more at one injurious blow,
Than can again in many Ages grow.
These the Wise Natives call the Fonts ; but there
Descending from the Roof there does appear
A bright transparent Cloud which from above,
By those false lights, does downwards seem to move,
Like a Machine , which, when some God appears,
We see descend upon our Theaters .
Unlike in figure, and in posture, this
With the two nam'd before, owes its increase
To the same cause the others grow up by,
Namely, the petrifying quality
Of those bright drops, which trickling one by one,
Deliberately crust, as they glide, to stone;
By which the Stiria longer, bigger grows,
And must touch ground at last, but when, who knows,
To see these thriving by these various ways,
It seems, methinks, as if the first did raise
Their heads the pond'rous Vault so to sustain,
Whilst th'other pendent Pillar seems to strein,
And, at full stretch, endeavour to extend
A stable foot to the same needless end.
And this forsooth the Bacon-Flitch they call,
Not that it does resemble one at all;
For it is round, not flat: but I suppose
Because it hangs i'th'roof like one of those,
And shines like salt, Peake Bacon-eaters came
At first to call it by that greasie name.
This once a fellow had, another Stone
Of the same colour, and proportion:
But long ago, I know not how, the one
Fell down, or eaten was; for now 'tis gone.
The next thing you arrive at, is a Stone,
In truth a very rare, and pretty one;
Which, on a Rocks sharp ridge taking its root,
Rises from thence in a neat round turn'd foot
Twelve inches high, or more, wherein are all
The mouldings of a round-turn'd Pedestal .
Whence bulbing out in figure of a Sphere ,
Some two foot and a half Diameter ,
The whole above is finisht in a small
Pellucid Spire crown'd with a Crystal Ball.
This, very aptly, they Pool 's Lanthorn name,
Being like those in Admiral Poops that flame.
For several Paces beyond these, you meet
With nothing worth observing, save your feet,
Which with great caution you must still dispose,
Lest, by mischance, should you once footing lose,
Your own true story only serve to grace
The lying Fables of the uncouth place:
But moving forward o're the glassy shoar,
You hear the Torrent now much louder roar,
With such a noise striking th'astonisht ear,
As does inform some Cataract is near:
When soon the deluge, that your fear attends
Contemptibly in a small Riv'let ends,
Which falling low with a precipitous wave,
The dreadful Eccho of the spacious Cave,
Gives it that hollow sound a man would fear
The Sea was breaking in a Channel there:
And yet above the Current's not so wide
To put a Maid to an indecent stride;
Which through bright Pebbles trembling there does crawl,
As if afraid of the approaching fall,
Which is a dreadful one; but yet how deep
I never durst extend my neck to peep.
Beyond this little Rill , before your eyes
You see a great transparent Pillar rise,
Of the same shining matter with the rest;
But such a one, as Nature does contest,
Though working in the dark, in this brave piece
With all the Obelisks of antique Greece ;