The works of Allan Ramsay :: :: University of Virginia Library

O could my Muse in nervous Numbers draw,
The Merit and surprizing Feats of LAW,
Sublime like MARO she should sing the Man
Profound in Project, destin'd to command.
Inferiour Minds are stun'd to see the Maze
Of God-like Thought, where his vast Genius plays
With so much Ease; without a wrinkl'd Brow
Inimitable Plans he doth pursue.

BLEST Monarch! By indulgent Heav'n carest,
Whose Crown's of such a valu'd Gem possest,
Such were thy JOVE and PHOEBUS, antient Greece,
And such thy JASON, who brought Thee a Fleece;
A Fleece of Gold the Æmonian Hero gain'd:
France finds in Fact what's in the Fable feign'd.

HAD Fate decree'd His Birth when Time was young,
Had he in Athens or in Sparta sprung;
They who capacious Souls for Arts or Wars
Did deifie, or write their Names on Stars,
Would soon on their Olympus found a Place
For Him amongst the high immortal Race.
Not so we're taught; enough for us we know
That he's one of the first e'er shone below,
Excelling, in a present splendid Fame,
Each eterniz'd fictitious daz'ling Name
Of Gods and Demi-gods, whose Glories throng
Th'harmonious Greek and Mantuan Shepherd's Song.

LIKE a fair River wynding thro' the Plain,
Increasing by successive Springs and Rain,
Grown to a Sea, it challenges Esteem,
And Plenty broods where e'er it turns its Stream.
'Till thus unite, how vain's the useless Rill,
Falling thro' Chinks adown the naked Hill;
Long in forgotten Wilds thro' Rocks they reel,
Or in the mossie Pits their Eddies wheel.

SO all His just Ideas fertile flow,
And by their Course prolifick Riches grow;
His Patronizing vig'rous Life imparts
To Springs of Traffick and ingenious Arts,
Without Encouragement, how oft with Pain
The Mulcibers their Anvils beat in vain;
And others who in useful Crafts excel,
While unimploy'd in lonely Cots they dwell:
Warm'd into Action with his ev'ry Scheme,
Thousands with glowing Breasts at Greatness aim.

HOW great's the Strength of one superiour Soul,
Who shining thus in highest Spheres can roll?
Kings idly search for Colonies abroad,
Without a Star like Him to point the Road.
Propt by his Conduct, LOUIS lifts his Head,
And views his Kingdom flourish like a Mead.
He speaks his Will,—the numerous Wooly Tribe
Brouze amongst Vines, or glean the new shorn Glibe:
In Room of scanty Fare, these will afford
More solid Viands to the Gallick Board.
They charge their Looms, their publick Wealth advance,
And banish Canvass Cloathing out of France.

TH'imagin'd Worth of Stones, costly 'cause rare,
Trifles which merit neither Love nor Care,
And most by empty Heads and Children priz'd,
In France by his Advice become despis'd:

The glaring Peeble must no more appear
To load the fair One's Hands, her Neck or Ear.
These he'll exchange for what is really good,
And chear the industrious Poor with Cloaths and Food.
The wise European thus with Glass and Toys
The Savage Indian of his Wealth decoys.

PARISIANS wrapt in hopeful View foresee
The moving Masts come tow'ring from the Sea,
Up their own Seine, t'unload the foreign Store,
Straight from the Hatches at the Merchant's Door:
Here Thousands from all Europe's Nations come,
And make Lutetia vie with antient Rome.

MADAMOISELLES, who at Court Balls and Plays,
And Basset Tables, spent both Nights and Days,
Forget their Visits, Tea and dressing Box,
And all their pretty Accents turn on Stocks:
Hundreds grown Thousands raise such fond Desires,
The Sex, all Passion, this new Wonder fires.

THE chearfull Peasant no more now repines,
Eas'd of his Tax, with Pleasure prunes his Vines:
Soon as the East is guilded with the Dawn,
For LAW he kneels to Heav'n with uplift Hand,
Who on th'expecting Croud his Bounty pours,
Descending like great JOVE in Golden Showers.

Great SIR,—

WHILE Ships divide the Waves, as long's the Sun
From Cancer back to Capricorn shall run,
The grateful GAULS your Mem'ry will revere,
And glorious in their Annals You'll appear;
Who form'd them Banks, their sinking Credit rais'd,
Whilst Your warm Fancy in MISSISIPPI blaz'd:
When a new Paris rises in that Land,
In Parian Stone, or Brass Your Form shall stand,
Sacred to those who poorly pent at home,
At large on fertile Plains with Pleasure roam.

HOW happy's he who with Success imploys
His tow'ring Schemes, and what he reaps enjoys;
Who nobly to what's truly great aspires,
And gratifies his rational Desires:
Thus You with steady Mind serenely move
Thro' Life, and all the Joys of Life improve.

O more than Man! Once, once Your native Land,
Often, tho active, wise behind the Hand,
Had the first Offer of Your vast Ingine;
Acted by meaner Views and wrong Design,
Declin'd the golden Minute of her Fate,
Which might have made her flourish, rich and great.
Beneath her 'tis to fear or yet complain,
Her Sons are brave, and you're her Son and Friend:
Unnumber'd Herds her lofty Hills adorn,
The warmer Vales exuberant yields her Corn;
Her Seas of Fish contain a lasting Fund,
Which fills each Bay, clear River, Lake and Pond.

DARLING of SCOTS! Deign us thy matchless Aid,
So may the Powers propitious be your Guide,
In ev'ry publick spirited Design,
'Till you above with fellow Angels shine.

IN all Your Actions Greatness is confest,
Nor can Your Mind b' elated or deprest,
Above or under its own innate Worth,
By what sublimest Numbers can set forth:
Yet take from a SCOTS Muse Part of what's due,
A Muse, who but to Merit ne'er shall bow,
And's proud to make her Boast she's sung to YOU.

ALAN RAMSAY.