Original Poetry.

Evening Star, Issue 3572, 4 August 1874, Page 3

Original Poetry.

LEITH WARD. Dedicated (without permission) to the two Members representing the Ward in the City Council. Dirty, muddy, swampy streets, The luckless Leith Ward traveller greets, Noisome stinks, and man-traps deep, Shock the sense and trip the feet. “ St. Andrew” Scotland’s worthy saint— May well he wroth and make complaint. And feel full bitterly the shamo T hat mire and slush should bear his name. That “ Hancver” should roll in dirt May seem no great disgrace or hurt; Stiff, as she links with nobler chains, ’Tis sad she’s full of open drains. Great “ Cumberland!” in pity weep ; Thy mem’ry here is buried deep— Disgraced, and lost—thy fame and rank 'Neath putrid rubbish, foul aud dauk. “St David,” “ Fred’rick,” “Athol”—all Are made to bear the loathsome thrall Of choking sinks and fev’rish stews, As if twere but their honest dues. Well, let them rot and breed disease; Let fevers ou the people sieze ; Let children die ; let old men faff ; What care we of the Council hall! The Town Belt claims our early care, For listen to the rich men’s prayer—“A carriage drive the City wants, To beautify our outside haunts.” When trees are planted—walks are formed— And we to wealth have all conformed, Then may we see that Leith Wards gains Some small improvements by our pains. Till then, ye Leithites, growl away ; Plod on through tilth from day to day; Endure the bogs as best you can ; We must fulfill the “ beauty ” plan. Leith Street.