Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/220

 82 THE POEMS OP ANNE �Fame, shall the gloomy Tyrant disposess, �And bear you, on her golden wings, �You, that have borne the cause of Kings �To the most distant parts, of the wide universe. �All, the yong Grecian Conquerer gain'd, �All, that his own, he e're could rate, 10 �In spite of accedents, or fate, �Already is by you obtain' d. �A treacherous hand his life unty'd; �And meaner men, his world devide; �But Fame, like you, he grasp'd, and after life, retain'd. �Already, in your name, was shown �Deeds, second only to your own. �But, as if to your race 'twere due, �Due, as succession to our Kings, �Still to be made for glorious things, 20 �Montrose's spirit's doubl'd upon you. �No sooner can the Nation want, �But Fate, does still a Graham grant ; �And storms, and tumults seems to raise �To build them Pyramids of praise. �O Scotland! never more, be thou �A cold, unfruitfull Country nam'd, �But, be for heat, and product fam'd; �Not such as answers to the plow, �But such, as Heroes can produce, 30 �For thine, and for thy Monark's use. �To nobler ends, thou doest thy heat bestow, �Not to make corn, and wine, but valiant wariers grow. �No land, but did to you impart Dundee, what excellent she held, To fitt you for the Court, or feild. France, lent you all her gracefull arts, ������ �