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Hence for a harp all but divine,

The first and best, And, oh! your aid, ye sacred Nine,

To sing the West.

The West, the West, I'll ever sing,
While of my lyre remains a string.
First, hail Edina, by the way,
Thou peerless queen of cities gay;
Hail to thy spires, thy towers, and domes,
Magnificent and princely homes;
Thy statues, monuments, which rise
To ballow and immortalize
Departed worth and genius dear,
Embalmed in every heart sincere !
Hail to the Cenotaph of Scott !
When shall his memory be forgot ?
On thee may Thalia proudly smile,
Illustrious and unrivalled pile;
Enraptured would I gaze a while

Thee to adore,
And with thy charms an hour beguile,

And Kemp deplore.

Next his memorial regard,
Scotia's devoted matchless bard,
Eternal Burns, a nation's praise,
And Nelson's too, who won his bays,
With others on the Calton Hill,
Which well the stranger's soul may thrill;
O for its fascinating views !
How genial to the roaming Muse !
But we descend, and time we should,
Hail, famous, ancient Holyrood !
Of perished royalty the seat,
And scene of many a bloody fete;
Whose stately form, each spacious hall,
Each tapestried and pictured wall
Departed glory still recall:

O to survey
Thy antique relics, one and all,

A summer's day! !

With unique pleasure turn now we,
Thou noble Citadel, to thee:
Hail to thy everlasting form !
The sport of many a siege and storm;
Thy lofty towers and turrets grey,
The boast of ages passed away;
Thy warlike aspect of renown,
Thy splendid Armoury and Crown;
The gorgeous sceptre Sword of State,
With other trappings of the great,
Of Scotia's proud tyrannic kings,
Perish'd like other worthless things
By Time's unsparing mortal blast,
And swept to the oblivious past !
But now a farewell glance we cast,

With ravished eyes,

No longer can we stay at last

To moralise.

Next in our cursory review,
Of thy attractions ever new,
To pass, Edina, would it suit,
Thy Royal Picture Institute ?
Hail to its pompous portly mien,
Surmounted by our virtuous Queen,
Reflecting—all may see and feel
Eternal credit on a Steel !
And, hail ! that honoured ace of parts,
Thy glorious, worthy School of Arts !
Long may it flourish, and may thee,
Thou noble University,
With all thy satellites of fame,
Whom proud may Scotia be to claim !
O Wilson, hallowed be thy name,

Thou"star of earth! Thy powers, long may thy Muse's flame

Bright mirror forth !

But vain, Edina, we essay
Thy endless charms half to portray,
So partly finish we our tour,
And now my Muse her wings must cower.
In thee, how time unnoticed fleets !
Farewell, thy gay and bustling streets,
Where endless shops in splendour vie
To fascinate and feast the eye;

Scenes of amusement, rich and new,
Haunts of pleasure, now adieu !
Gardens sweet when Summer reigns,
Shady walks, and vernal plains,
Frowning Crags by Nature piled,
Rugged hills sublimely wild,
Draped with flow'rets bright and mild;

And hence, in short,
Of the enrapt poetic child

The choice resort.

Next hail, thee Glasgow, three times hail !
To flourish, may'st thou never fail,
But ever nobly cock thy crest,
As the metropolis of the West;
Hail to thy architecture rare,
Thy sculptured halls and churches fair,
Thy famed Arcade and proud Exchange,
Which well with Britain's best inay range;
The elegant and sumptuous shows
Of merchandise thy streets disclose,
Which with their busy masses teem
Like insects in the summer's beam.
Heaven bless your “callans," frank and free,
Your “lassocks” kind, and fair to see;
But first on Flora—first with me-

That lovely flower,
Bliss thrice distilled—ay, three times three-

Profusely shower.

Illustrious city, truly great,
What Muse can e'er thee overrate,
For all that can a people raise,
For all that merits human praise ?
If Modern Athens laurels claim,
Sure equal laurels wreath thy name !
How close that sympathy we see,
In intellectual dignity,
True moral grandeur, wisdom, worth,
The all by Heaven esteemed on earth.
Besides, dear Caledonia's boast,
Renowned afar from coast to coast,
For glorious arts of every grade,
For manufacture as for trade,
Where golden Commerce long hath made

Her chosen home, Whose thousand sons beneath her shade

Advent'rous roam.

O wonder, reverence, delight,
Ecstatic, ah ! resplendent sight
Unrivalled, what can words avail,
Next thy Necropolis all hail !
Vast city of the mighty dead,
With tombs and statues overspread;
Where, huddled in oblivion deep,
The statesman and the warrior sleep;
Where o'er the priest and poet's grave
The fragrant flowers of Summer wave;

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