 | Glasgow |  |
5
GLASGOW.
I
Hail, Glasgow! fam'd for ilka thingThat heart can wish, or siller bring!
May Peace, wi' healing on her wing,
Aye nestle here;
And Plenty gar thy childer sing,
The lee-lang year!
6
II
Within the tinkling o' thy bells,How mony a happy body dwells!
Where they get bread, they ken themsels;
But, I'll declare,
They're aye bien-like; and, what precels,
Ha'e fouth to spare!
III
If ye've a knacky son or twa,To Glasgow-College send them a':
Wi' whilk, for Gospel, or for Law,
Or classic Lair,
Ye'll find few places hereawa',
That can compare.
7
IV
There ane may be, for sma' propyne,Physician, Lawyer, or Divine:
The gem, lang bury'd i' the mine,
Is polish'd here,
Till a' its hidden beauties shine,
And sparkle clear!
V
Nor is it Students, and nae mair,That climb, in crouds, our College-stair:
Thither the learn'd, far fam'd, repair,
To clear their notions;
And pay to Alma Mater there,
Their warm devotions!
8
VI
Led by a lustre sae divine,Ev'n Geddes visited this shrine!
Geddes! sweet fav'rite o' the Nine!
Shall live in story;
And, like yon constellation, shine
In rays o' glory!
VII
O! Leechman, Hutcheson, and Wight!Reid, fu' of intellectual light!
And Simpson, as the morning, bright!
Your mem'ries here,
Tho' gane to regions o' delight,
Will aye be dear!
9
VIII
'Mang ither names, that consecrateAnd stamp a country gude or great,
We boast o' some that might compete,
Or claim alliance,
Wi' a' that's grand in Kirk or State—
In Art or Science!
IX
Here great Buchanan learnt to scanThe verse that makes him mair than man!
Cullen and Hunter here began
Their first probations;
And Smith, frae Glasgow, form'd his plan—
“The Wealth o' Nations!”
10
X
In ilka house, frae man to boy,A' hands, in Glasgow, find employ:
Ev'n little maids, wi' meikle joy,
Flow'r lawn and gauze,
Or clip, wi' care, the silken soy
For Ladies' braws.
XI
Their fathers weave, their mothers spin,The muslin robe, sae fine and thin,
That, frae the ancle to the chin,
It aft discloses
The beauteous symmetry within—
Limbs, neck and bozies!
11
XII
Look thro' the town, the houses hereLike noble palaces appear:
A' things the face o' gladness wear—
The market's thrang,
Bis'ness is brisk, and a's asteer
The streets alang!
XIII
Clean-keepit streets! sae lang and braid,The distant objects seem to fade!
And then for shelter, or for shade,
Frae sun or show'r,
Piazzas lend their friendly aid,
At ony hour!
12
XIV
O! for the Muse o' Burns, sae rare,To paint the groups that gather there!
The wives on We'n'sdays wi' their ware—
The lads and lasses,
In ferlying crouds, at Glasgow-Fair;
And a' that passes!
XV
But, oh! his Muse, that warm'd ilk clod,And rais'd up flow'rs where'er he trod!
Will ne'er revisit this abode!
And mine, poor lassie,
In tears for him, dow hardly plod
Thro' Glasgow causae!
13
XVI
Wond'ring, we see new streets extending—New squares wi' public buildings blending!
Brigs, stately brigs, in arches bending
Across the Clyde;
And turrets, kirks, and spires, ascending
In lofty pride!
XVII
High owr the lave, St. Mungo rearsHis sacred fane, the pride of years;
And, stretching upwards to the spheres,
His spire, afar,
To weary travellers appears
A leading star!
14
XVIII
O! happy, happy were the hoursWhen first, far aff on Crawfurd-Moors,
I hail'd thee bright thro' sunny show'rs,
As on I came
Frae murm'ring Nith's romantic bow'rs,
My native hame!
XIX
Blythe days! owr happy to remain!The Sire, wha led my steps, is gane!
—Yet wherefore shou'd the Muse complain
In dirge-like lines,
When Heaven has only ta'en its ain,
For wise designs!
15
XX
Still happy, happy be their hoursWha journey, Clydesdale, thro' thy bow'rs!
And, blest amang th'angelic Pow'rs,
Blest be the man
Wha sav'd St. Mungo's hallow'd tow'rs
Frae Ruin's han'!
XXI
And, O! Eternal Truth! all hail!May thy pure dictates aye prevail!
But ne'er sic times let Scotia wail,
When Reformation,
Mad wi' a Kirk-destroying zeal,
Spread devastation!
16
XXII
The Muse, whom ev'n the thought appals,Hies aff where Contemplation dwalls;
And flighters round yon ivy'd walls,
Where rooks are cawing—
Round sacred Blantyre's roofless halls,
To waste fast fa'ing!
XXIII
And thence to kindred ruins winging,Where a' the Arts their heads are hinging,
Bewails sad Genius fondly clinging
Around Melross!—
But, hark! the music-bells are ringing
At Glasgow-Cross!
17
XXIV
'Tween twa and three, wi' daily care,The Gentry to the Cross repair:
The Politician, wi' grave air,
Deliberating;
Merchants and Manufact'rers there
Negociating.
XXV
It's not by slothfu'ness and ease,That Glasgow's canty ingles bleeze:
To gi'e her inland trade a heeze,
As weel's her foreign,
She's join'd the East and Western Seas
Together, roaring!
18
XXVI
Frae Forth, athort the land, to Clyde,Her barks, a' winds and weathers, glide;
And, on the bosom o' the tide,
Wi' gentle motion,
Her vessels, like a forest, ride,
And kiss Auld Ocean!
XXVII
Nor only her's what Trade imparts—She's great in Arms as weel as Arts:
Her gallant Sons, wi' loyal hearts,
A' tak the field;
Resolv'd, when Knaves wou'd scatter darts,
Their King to shield.
19
XXVIII
And yet, tho' arm'd they thus appear,They only arm while danger's near:
When Peace, blest Peace! to them maist dear,
Dispels the gloom,
They for the shuttle change the spear,
And ply the loom!
XXIX
Hail, Industry! thou richest gemThat shines in Virtue's diadem!
While Indolence, wi' tatter'd hem,
Around her knee,
Sits, chitt'ring, like the wither'd stem
O' some boss tree!
20
XXX
To thee we owe the flocks o' sheepThat glad Benlomond's cloud-capt steep—
The pregnant mines that yield yon heap
O' massy coals—
And a' the tenants o' the deep,
Caught here in shoals!
XXXI
And a' the villas round, that gleamLike spangles i' the sunny beam;
The bonny haughs that laughing seem,
Wi' plenty growing;
And a' the bleach-fields on ilk stream
Thro' Clydesdale flowing!
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XXXII
Hence, Commerce spreads her sails to a'The Indies and America:
Whatever makes ae penny twa,
By wind or tide,
Is wafted to the Broomielaw,
On bonny Clyde!
XXXIII
Yet, shou'd the best exertions fail,And fickle Fortune turn the scale—
Shou'd a' be lost in some hard gale,
Or wreckt on shore—
The Merchants'-House makes a' things hale
As heretofore.
22
XXXIV
Wi' broken banes shou'd Labour pine,Or Indigence grow sick and dwine,
Th'Infirmary, wi' care divine,
Unfolds its treasure,
And turns their wormwood cup to wine—
Their pain, to pleasure!
XXXV
O! blessings on them and their gear,Wha thus the poor man's friends appear!
While mony a waefu' heart they cheer,
Revive and nourish—
Safe thro' Life's quicksands may they steer!
Like Glasgow, flourish!
23
XXXVI
Wow, Sirs! it's wonderfu' to traceHow Commerce has improv'd the place!
Changing bare house-room's narrow space,
And want o' money,
To seats of elegance and grace,
And milk and honey!
XXXVII
But, to the philosophic mind,What's mair than wealth and grandeur, join'd,
Man now meets man, a' frank and kind
Wi' one another,
And is, what Providence design'd,
His friend—his brother!
24
XXXVIII
On Saturdays, the afternoon,When, for the week, their cares are doon,
They dine, and set their heart aboon,
And tak their coggie,
And fix another meeting soon,
They're a' sae voggie!
XXXIX
O! while they're a' carouzing there,Let me to Kelvin-side repair;
Or Bothwell-banks that bloom sae fair,
Where Lady Ann,
Owr her sweet bairn, lamented sair
The wiles o' man!
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XL
Or, at Lang-side, past scenes review,And round yon thorn my sighs renew;
Where, when the vanquish'd squadrons flew,
That came to fend her,
Lorn Mary bade a lang adieu
To regal splendour!
XLI
Aft, Crookstone, frae thy castle-wa',The beugle-horn was heard to blaw!
Again she cast a look, and saw
Thy stately tow'rs—
Lang ling'ring, till the last huzza
O' rebel pow'rs!
26
XLII
Nae troops to guard her in her flight;Nae friends that durst assert her right;
Nae bow'r-maids now, wi' fond delight,
Their cares employ
To cheer at morn, or soothe at night,
Her great annoy!
XLIII
To where Dundrennan-Abbey lay,Far in the wilds o' Galloway!
Owr moss, owr moor; up bank and brae,
The Mourner goes;
Nae mair, frae that disast'rous day,
To taste repose!
27
XLIV
Still, at Lang-side, in hillocks green,The traces o' the camp are seen:
Still, Fancy paints the conflict keen;
And figures there,
The angel-form o' Scotland's Queen,
In deep despair!
XLV
But come, my Muse! O, come wi' me,And drap a tear at Ellerslee!
Where patriot Wallace, bauld and free,
Begood to bloom—
Where Freedom still, wi' weeping eie,
Laments his doom!
28
XLVI
O! Scotia! where was Virtue than?Say, was her influence a' withdrawn?
To let a twa-fac'd villain's han',
O! endless shame!
Betray the godlike, glorious man,
And stain thy name!
XLVII
It's late, owr late, to tak a strideTo Leven-Water's bow'ry side—
To scud across the Frith sae wide,
Where ships come in—
Or paint Barncluith, the Falls o' Clyde,
And Corra-Linn.
29
XLVIII
O! cou'd I, wi' the ev'ning's beam,Hie aff where Lanark's turrets gleam!
Thro' birks and wild-flow'rs, frae her dream,
Awaken Flora;
And woo the genius o' the stream,
Romantic Corra!
XLIX
Some other time, when burdies sing,And gowans deck the teeming Spring,
The Muse shall spread her eager wing,
Their charms to see;
And Clydesdale's banks and braes shall ring
Wi' her and me!
30
L
Whae'er has danner'd out at e'en,And seen the sights that I ha'e seen!
For strappan lasses, tight and clean,
May proudly tell,
That, search the country, Glasgow-Green
Will bear the bell!
LI
There ye may find, in sweetness rare,The blooming rose—the lily fair—
The winsome look—the gracefu' air—
The taste refin'd—
And a' that can the heart ensnare,
In woman-kind!
31
LII
Yet, what avails't, to you or me,How bonny, gude, or rich, they be,
If, when a lad, wi' langing eie,
But mynts to woo,
They, scornfu', toss their head ajee,
And crook their mou'?
LIII
Wae's me for him, in life's sweet morn,The youth by hopeless passion torn!
Toils, pains, and plagues, are eithly borne,
And seem but sma',
Till Beauty tips the rankling thorn
Wi' bitter ga'!
32
LIV
Gin ony simple Lover chuseIn humble verse his Joe to rooze,
The eident Porters ne'er refuse,
For little siller,
To bear the firstlings o' his Muse,
Discreetly, till her.
LV
But when the Youth, wi' meikle care,Has penn'd a sonnet on his Fair,
O! but it grieves his heart right sair,
When she, grown vain,
Flings his epistle, Gude kens where,
In proud disdain!
33
LVI
Hame, ere the grass is wet wi' dew,Hame as our belles are flocking now,
Sair, sair the lazy Chairmen rue,
Wi' heavy granes,
That e'er our streets had ought to do
Wi' braid plane-stanes.
LVII
Nae Lady wants a chair to hire!Nae skelping now thro' mud and mire,
Wi' coaties kiltit high and high'r,
Mid-leg at least—
Eneugh to warm wi' young desire
The aged breast!
34
LVIII
And, what relieves the Poet's care,When wi' his Joe he taks the air,
His lugs will now be deav'd nae mair,
When siller's doon,
By Chairmen bawling, “Shuse a shair?
“She'll fyle her shoon!”
LIX
Nae tongue can tell the taunts and rubsThat he maun thole whom Poortith snubs:
Afttimes frae rich unfeeling scrubs,
Wha're meanly willing
To trail their lasses thro' the dubs,
To hain a shilling!
35
LX
O! Glasgow! fam'd for ilka thingThat heart can wish, or siller bring!
May nowther care nor sorrow ding
Thy childer dear,
But Peace and Plenty gar them sing
Frae year to year!
| Glasgow | |