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
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 may 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-
Bliss thrice distilled-ay, three times three
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;
And where the patriot and the sage, Embalmed in the historic page, Repose secluded from the view, Beneath the mournful gloomy yew. But, ah! the endless retinue
That slumber here,
Whom Fame, with every honour due, Hath crowned sincere !
Hence, noble Glasgow, fare thee well; No longer can we musing dwell On all thy novelties around,
That wake the Muse thy praise to sound, Which onward, onward, flaps her wing: Thus Paisley next in turn we sing; Which every tourist frank must own, To be at least a charming town. Here holds proud Art her sceptred sway: Hail to thy manufacture gay!
But witness once those numerous halls, Piled with her celebrated shawls,
And mark their fabric and design, Which wizarded those eyes of mine; O B―s, ever be it thine
And bright may Fortune on thee shine,
Health and prosperity to thee!
Paisley, thou hast a charm for me,
That captivates my very will. Hail, favoured spot of Tannahill, Immortal in the powers of song, Who mused yon sylvan shades among; Enchanting scenes which all revere, Fraught with associations dear. Lo to the right but cast your eyes, "Gleniffer's braes" there gently rise; And here the healthful and the free, "The Bonnie Woods o' Craigie Lee;" And, lastly, with profound regard Now for the memory of the Bard, The pond behold where reckless dared He death to brave,
And where from stern misfortune hard He sought a grave.
Next that unrivalled lovely spot, The Cemetery, who fails to note? With all its sweet transporting views, What subjects for the rural Muse! Last, Paisley shall we e'er forget That courtesy in thee we met? The cup of kindness here we quaffed, How thrice ambrosial was its draught! Hence, far or near, roam where I may, However Fortune chalks the way, While social joy my soul shall thrill, I'll warmly pledge a "Hawick gill" To him, the prince, the pink of folks,
The friendly, gifted, generous Knox, With open honest "Sawney" Coaks,
And her sae fair aye
Oh the blue eyes, the auburn locks, Of modest Mary!
Thence hail to Greenock! hail sincere, Thy reminiscences how dear!
Spreading thy wings, with thriving pride, Along the classic banks of Clyde, How sweet thy harbour to survey, Where bustling Commerce rules the day, Diffusing with a liberal hand
Her bones from many a distant land: Long may she speed, unshackled be
To spread her sails and bless the free; And raise her steam, which raised thy name, And rolled it on the page of fame;
As Watt's distinguished native spot, With other names of deathless note: And where 'twas "Highland Mary's" lot In Spring to fall,
I've stood above, with pensive thought, Her vernal pall.
All, hail, thy lovely heath-clad heights, Dear haunts of thy Parnassian wights! Alone but give me there to stray, To muse the live-long Summer day. What pencil can such charms unfold,
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