Poem by James Clerk Maxwell

Song Of The Edinburgh Academician

If ony here has got an ear,
He'd better tak’ a haud o’ me,
Or I'll begin, wi’ roarin’ din,
To cheer our old Academy.

Dear old Academy,
Queer old Academy,
A merry lot we were, I wot,
When at the old Academy.

There's some may think me crouse wi’ drink,
And some may think it mad o’ me,
But ither some will gladly come
And cheer our old Academy.

Some set their hopes on Kings and Popes,
But, o’ the sons of Adam, he
Was first, without the smallest doubt,
That built the first Academy.

Let Pedants seek for scraps of Greek,
Their lingo to Macadamize;
Gie me the sense, without pretence,
That comes o’ Scots Academies.

Let scholars all, both grit and small,
Of Learning mourn the sad demise;
That's as they think, but we will drink
Good luck to Scots Academies. 

1. Answer To Tait
2. Cats Cradle Song, By A Babe In Knots
3. Nathalocus
4. On St. David's Day
5. Report On Tait's Lecture On Force

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