Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Scotland: Vols. VI–VIII. 1876–79.
Address to Edinburgh
By Robert Burns (1759–1796)E
All hail thy palaces and towers,
Where once beneath a monarch’s feet
Sat Legislation’s sovereign powers!
From marking wildly scattered flowers,
As on the banks of Ayr I strayed,
And singing, lone, the lingering hours,
I shelter in thy honored shade.
As busy Trade his labor plies;
There Architecture’s noble pride
Bids elegance and splendor rise;
Here Justice, from her native skies,
High wields her balance and her rod;
There Learning, with his eagle eyes,
Seeks Science in her coy abode.
With open arms the stranger hail;
Their views enlarged, their liberal mind,
Above the narrow, rural vale;
Attentive still to Sorrow’s wail,
Or modest Merit’s silent claim;
And never may their sources fail,
And never envy blot their name!
Gay as the gilded summer sky,
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn,
Dear as the raptured thrill of joy!
Fair Burnet strikes the adoring eye,
Heaven’s beauties on my fancy shine;
I see the Sire of Love on high,
And own his work indeed divine!
Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar;
Like some bold veteran, gray in arms,
And marked with many a seamy scar.
The ponderous wall and massy bar,
Grim-rising o’er the rugged rock,
Have oft withstood assailing war,
And oft repelled the invader’s shock.
I view that noble, stately dome,
Where Scotia’s kings of other years,
Famed heroes! had their royal home.
Alas, how changed the times to come!
Their royal name low in the dust!
Their hapless race wild wandering roam,
Though rigid law cries out, ’T was just!
Whose ancestors, in days of yore,
Through hostile ranks and ruined gaps
Old Scotia’s bloody lion bore.
Even I who sing in rustic lore,
Haply, my sires have left their shed,
And faced grim danger’s loudest roar,
Bold-following where your fathers led!
All hail thy palaces and towers,
Where once beneath a monarch’s feet
Sat Legislation’s sovereign powers!
From marking wildly scattered flowers,
As on the banks of Ayr I strayed,
And singing, lone, the lingering hours,
I shelter in thy honored shade.