Classic Poem

Come listen, cronies, ane an' a',
While on my dowie reed I blaw;
And mourn the sad untimely fa'
O' our auld toun,
Whilk, spite o' justice, sense, an' law,
They're dingin' down.

Auld streets and closes, wynds and houses,
The scenes o' mony genial bouzes,
Whaur Burns an' Ramsay woo'd the Muses
In days lang past,
Wi' sacrilegious dunts an' bruises
Are fa'ing fast.

Our city wa's, wi' yetts sae stout,
That keepit midnight reivers out,
And saved our sires frae mony a bout
O' southern foe,
To hain us twa three staps about
Are now laid low.

The ancient Krames whaur weanies tottit,
Whaur a' wee wairdless callants trottit,
Though scantly fed, an' scrimply coatit,
To spend their a'
On dirlin' drums or ba's that stottit
Against the wa'.

Whaur wee lead penny watches glanced,
Whaur wee pig penny horses pranced,
Whaur crowds o' bairnies gazed entranced
A' round in rings,
While timmer tumblers swung an' danced
On horse-hair strings.

An' bawbee Dalls the fashions apit,
Sae rosy cheekit, jimpy shapit,
An' wee bit lassies gazed an' gapit
Wi' mouth an' ee,
Till frae their mithers they had scrapit
The prized bawbee.

The City Guard sae proud an' dorty,
Brave remnant o' the twa-and-forty,
Wad gie their Highland beaks a snortie
And ban in Earse,
Then sally forth in warlike sortie
Right bauld an' fierce.

Rogues aye gat aff for draps o' liquor,
But callants aye were keepit sicker;
Wae fa' them puir things at a bicker,
Unless they watch'd it,
And reckless bolted a' the quicker,
I trow they catch'd it.

Wow, but “ta guard,” were brisk an' braw,
Their begnets glancing in a raw,
But now, puir bodies, they're awa,
Let's drap a tear;
Death's gi'en our teugh auld friends a ca'—
He'll soon come here.

The auld Wast Bow sae steep an' crookit,
Whaur mony cozy dens were coukit,
Whaur beggars hoosed, an' blackguards joukit
Frae law's keen grup,
Whaur daidlin bodies sat an' souket
Hale puncheons up.

Whaur bawbee pies wee callants moupit,
Whaur drucken dumbies skirled an' whoopit,
Whaur ballant singers, hoarse and roopit,
Proclaim'd dread war
Wi' preachers, wha, without a poopit,
Held furth 'mang glaur.

Whaur tinklers rang their earthen muggies,
Whaur stands were cramm'd wi' wudden luggies,
Whaur scarlet cats and sky-blue doggies
Stood brawly spattit,
Whaur callants wi' white mice an' puggies
Like hares lay squattit.

An' there were frail auld men, knee-breekit,
Wi' mumlin' tongues an' een half steekit,
Wha daunnerit on thegither cleekit
To some lown beild,
And in the sunshine sat an' beekit
Their healthy eild.

A wean I striddled on their backs,
A callant joined their forenoon walks,
An' humour'd a' their auld knick-knacks
Right leal an' kind,
While wi' Auld Reekie's choicest cracks
They stored my mind.

The howffs whaur a' thae arts grew great in,
Whaur a' thae worthies held their state in,
Whaur worn-out wights fand snug retreat in,
Frae wranglin' spouse,
Hae felt the heavy hand o' fate on
Their hoary pows.

Nae ferlie though I mak my mane
For thae black smeekit wa's now gane,
Linkit an' twined round every stane
Is some auld notion,
That drives my bluid through ilka vein
Wi' wild emotion.