To the Memory, of the Incomparable Sir Andrew Ramsay of Abbots-Hall Provost of Edinburgh, Counseller to His Majesty, Lord of the Session, &c. Who departed this Life, January 17. 1688. A funeral elegie [by Ninian Paterson] |
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 | To the Memory, of the Incomparable Sir Andrew Ramsay of Abbots-Hall |  |
A FUNERAL ELEGIE.
As to divide the Winds that disagree,When in Tempestuous Storms they mingled be,
And lay their Stern Encounters so asleep,
That they may whisper Musick to the Deep,
Impossible to us it is; no less,
Thy Praises, or our Griefs, are to express,
Great Abbots-Hall! Thy worth they only know,
Who are above, when we do mourn below,
By Intellect and Love, Ye converse there,
Things banished our muddie Hemisphere.
Soul-wounding-grief, and wonder, are the two,
Sole Legacies, Thou leaves us here below.
And could not Thou have stayed with us a while,
Till Thou had seen a fully purged Ile.
Thou Edinburghs Glory, Pleasure of our eyes!
Yet blest be God, it is with no surprise.
Although our woeful Comfort who can smoother,
Is only this, we'll ne're losse such another.
And this compleats our Tragedie, beyond
This, Fate can hardly give a greater wound.
Our Nation's Bankrupt grown, all men may see,
Beyond the hopes of a Recoverie.
When Gallantry and Justice have their Fall,
In Collington and Generous Abbots-Hall,
For we could say, while they were both alive,
The Kingdoms Honour could all Storms survive.
Never did active Soul of Sacred Birth,
Inform a more Celestial piece of Earth,
Than Abbots-Hall, who scarce has left behind,
A Subject, of a more Majestick Mind.
How did He all our angry Broiles appease,
And with His own Unrest, procure our Ease.
He car'd not what Turmoils possest His Breast,
So that the Town from Tumults, was at rest.
For alwayes like a Monarch, He did Reign,
Above dull-piti'd Envie, or Disdain.
Yet never did He to Preferment rise
By Scrapes, or Bribes, or such base Simonies.
He Calm'd all Quarrells, Vanquisht every Spite,
And made each Enemie His proselyte.
More than ten years, which spoke His high Renown,
He was the Angel-Guardian of the Town.
Where he made void the Poets sad Regrate.
Of just Astreas long bewail'd Retreat,
His every Act that Opprobrie cancell'd.
In Him she spoke, in Him she Breath'd, and Dwell'd.
We may affirm it since our Saviours Birth,
He was Her truest Deputie on Earth.
What ever Sentence from his Lips did fall,
His Prudence made it still Rhetorical.
When this whole Island Floated in a Sea.
Of Disobedience, and Disloyaltie,
He by his Wisdom all these Syrens past,
Being pinioned unto the Loyal Mast.
His Goodness, and his Wisdom, was so Great,
He Equally both Knaves, and Fools, did Hate.
If what we Great or Generous Esteem,
Exemption from the Grave could justly claim,
He had (could now Fates Rigour be abated)
With Enoch and Elias been translated.
And yet though Death dissolved hath His Frame,
He'l be immortal in a lasting Fame;
If Generosity from Death could save,
Great Abbots-Hall He had escapt the Grave.
But now being Heavens Inhabitant, and Guest,
He unmixt Sweets enjoyes amongst the Blest.
Yet may His Fame on Earth, till time shal die,
Yeeld unto nothing, but Eternitie.
N. Paterson.
| To the Memory, of the Incomparable Sir Andrew Ramsay of Abbots-Hall | |