William McGonagall’s verse takes us straight into a sunny, proud celebration of Dundee’s Hill o’ Balgay. The speaker first lingers on the park’s simple gifts: the “fragrant air,” the green bushes and flowers, and the health it brings to anyone who walks there. Even the burying-ground feels like a peaceful place to roam and read old epitaphs. Lovers are safe here because policemen are always watching, and from the summit you can see the silvery Tay, the Law Hill, and St. Andrews in the distance. The mood is earnest and guileless, full of local affection.
Then the poem shifts to the inauguration day itself. Bands with flags and banners parade through Dundee, and two speeches are delivered in high spirits. Harry Scott, the young laird, gets applause that “rent the air.” The Earl of Dalhousie makes a practical but warmly received plea: the hill lacks shelter from the rain, so he will donate five hundred pounds to build a shed. The crowd cheers joyfully, tears flow, and the day ends with a quiet, contented dispersal. Throughout, the poem’s charm lies in its straightforward delight and the way it turns a civic event into something almost childishly grand.