Address of the Muse to George Drummond, the Lord Provost, and to the Town-Council of Edinburgh, An

AN ADDRESS OF THE MUSE

TO GEORGE DRUMMOND, THE LORD PROVOST, AND TO
THE TOWN-COUNCIL OF EDINBURGH.

M Y Lord, my patron, good and kind,
Whose every act of generous care
The patriot shews, and trusty friend;
While favours, by your thoughts refin'd,
Both public and the private share.
To you the muse her duteous homage pays,
While Edinburgh's interest animates her lays.

Nor will the best some hints refuse:
The narrow soul that least brings forth,
To an advice the rarest bows;
Which the extensive mind allows,
Being conscious of its genuine worth,
Fears no eclipse; nor with dark pride declines
A ray from light that far inferior shines.

Our reason and advantage call
Us to preserve what we esteem;
And each should contribute, tho' small,
Like silver rivulets that fall
In one, and make a spreading stream.
So should a city all her care unite,
T' engage with entertainments of delight.

Man for society was made,
His search of knowledge has no bound;
Thro' the vast deep he loves to wade,
But subjects ebb, and spirits fade,
On wilds and thinly peopled ground.
Then where the world, in miniature, employs
Its various arts, the soul its wish enjoys.

Sometimes the social mind may rove,
And trace, with contemplation high,
The natural beauties of the grove,
Pleas'd with the turtle's making love,
While birds chant in a summer sky.
But when cold winter snows the naked fields,
The city then its changing pleasure yields.

Then you, to whom pertains the care,
And have the power to act aright,
Nor pains nor prudent judging spare,
The Good Town's failings to repair,
And give her lovers more delight.
Much you have done, both useful and polite;
O! never tire, till every plan's complete.

Some may object, we money want,
Of every project soul and nerve.
'Tis true; — but sure, the parliament
Will ne'er refuse frankly to grant
Such funds as good designs deserve.
The thriving well of each of Britain's towns,
Adds to her wealth, and more her grandeur crowns.

Allow that fifteen thousand pounds
Were yearly on improvements spent;
If luxury produce the funds,
And well laid out, there are no grounds
For murmuring, or the least complaint:
Materials all within our native coast,
The poor 's employ'd, we gain, and nothing 's lost.

Two hundreds, for five pounds a-day,
Will work like Turkish galley-slaves;
And ere they sleep, they will repay
Back all the public forth did lay,
For small support that nature craves.
Thus kept at work, few twangs of guilt they feel,
And are not tempt by pinching want to steal.

Most wisely did our city move,
When Hope, who judges well and nice,
Was chosen fittest to improve
From rushy tufts the pleasing grove,
From bogs a rising paradise.
Since earth's foundation to our present day
The beauteous plain in mud neglected lay.

Now, evenly planted, hedg'd, and drain'd,
Its verdures please the scent and sight;
And here the Fair may walk unpain'd,
Her flowing silks and shoes unstain'd,
Round the green Circus of delight;
Which shall by ripening time still sweeter grow,
And Hope be fam'd while Scotsmen draw the bow.

Ah! while I sing, the northern air,
Thro' gore and carnage gives offence;
Which should not, while a river fair,
Without our walls, flows by so near;
Carriage from thence but small expence;
The useful corporation too would find,
By working there, more health and ease of mind.

Then sweet our northern flow'rs would blow,
And sweet our northern alleys end;
Sweet all the northern springs would flow,
Sweet northern trees and herbs would grow,
And from the lake a field be gain'd:
Where on the spring's green margin by the dawn,
Our maids might wash, and blanch their lace and lawn.

Forbid a nasty pack to place
On stalls unclean their herbs and roots,
On the high street a vile disgrace,
And tempting to our infant race
To swallow poison with their fruits.
Give them a station where less spoil'd and seen,
The healthful herbage may keep fresh and clean.

Besides, they straiten much our street,
When those who drive the hack and dray,
In drunk and rude confusion meet,
We know not where to turn our feet;
Mortal our hazard every way:
Too oft the ag'd, the deaf, and little fry,
Hemm'd in with stalls, crush'd under axles lie.

Clean order yields a vast delight,
And geniuses that brightest shine
Prefer the pleasure of the sight
Justly, to theirs who day and night
Sink health and active thought in wine.
Happy the man that 's clean in house and weed,
Tho' water be his drink, and oats his bread.

Kind Fate! on them whom I admire,
Bestow neat rooms and gardens fair,
Pictures that speak the painter's fire,
And learning which the nine inspire,
With friends that all his thoughts may share;
A house in Edinburgh, when the sullen storm
Defaces nature's joyous fragrant form.

O! may we hope to see a stage,
Fill'd with the best of such as can
Smile down the follies of the age,
Correct dull pride and party rage,
And cultivate the growing man;
And shew the virgin every proper grace,
That makes her mind as comely as her face.

Nor, will the most devout oppose,
When with a strict judicious care
The scenes most virtuous shall be chose,
That numerous are; forbidding those
That shock the modest, good, and fair.
The best of things may often be abus'd;
That argues not, when right, to be refus'd.

Thus, what our fathers' wasting blood
Of old from the South Britons won,
When Scotland reach'd to Humber's flood,
We shall regain by arts less rude,
And bring the best and fairest down
From England's northern counties, nigh as far
Distant from court as we of Pictland are.

Thus far, inspir'd with honest zeal,
These thoughts are offer'd, with submission,
By your own bard, who ne'er shall fail
The interest of the common-weal,
While you indulge and grant permission
To your oblig'd, thus humbly to rehearse
His honest and well-meaning thoughts in verse.
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