SONGS OF THE ROAD
127
No city fairer or more grand
Has ever sprung from human hand.
But I must add (the more's the pity)
That though in fair Dunedin's city
Scotland's taste is quite delightful,
The smaller Scottish towns are frightful.
When in other lands I roam
And sing 'There is no place like home,'
In this respect I must confess
That no place has its ugliness.
Here on my mother's granite breast
We settled down and took our rest.
On Saturday we ventured forth
To push our journey to the North.
Past Linlithgow first we sped,
Where the Palace rears its head,
Then on by Falkirk, till we pass
The famous valley and morass
