A hill, or any place of heights,
May both stand out and simply stand
For something quite beyond itself:
Everest stands for all the things
We can only do at the very limits
Of our ability; man can climb it,
But only just, and many find
The death zone means exactly what it says,
May find, too, that where oxygen is thin
People are slow to help one another.
Similarly, a mountain may stand for purity,
As does Mont Blanc, white-topped, unsullied,
Or, under its Aegean sky, Olympus
Stands for a whole theology of gods
Given to intemperate, selfish power
Exercised by those who like to hurl
Thunderbolts, to punish mortals
For being themselves, not gods,
And sometimes irritating, or scared.
Calton Hill, a moderate slope
By any standards, is inimical to gods,
Portrays the role of intellect; few hills
Give room to philosophers, as this hill does;
Few hills attempt to embody reason
As understood during that brief
Moment of clarity when Edinburgh
Put Enlightenment at its heart.
Order pervades the human contribution
To this hill’s restrained appearance:
The buildings here are classical,
A Grecian dream realised in Scottish stone;
Here the measured life may confidently be led;
Reason and wisdom both thrive under the aegis
Of an architecture that embodies
An ancient ideal, sensitive to proportion.
Looking west from here, down bustling Princes Street,
We’re reminded of all those truths
That Dugald Stewart, David Hume, and Adam Smith
All professed to us: be sympathetic,
For human sympathy is all; take note
Of the needs of others; avoid the dark;
Let justice prevail, and pay heed to light.