Streams from Helicon Or, Poems On Various Subjects. In Three Parts. By Alexander Pennecuik ... The Second Edition. Enter'd in Stationer's Hall |
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To Sir Richard Steele,
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 | Streams from Helicon |  |
To Sir Richard Steele,
One of the Commissioners of Enquiry for North-Britain.
In Transports rise, dead Muse, sublimes thy Theme;
With solemn Stanzas, lift his awful Name:
Soft be your Notes, and melting as his Song,
Which charms our Orb, if not th'Angelick throng.
Lively Ideas in your Numbers shine,
A beauteous Image spangle ev'ry Line;
Don't stumble, and resume the dull Defence,
Exhausted is the Magazine of Sense.
His Lucubration's swell'd with divine Thought,
Makes ev'ry Muse turn mute, great Steele has wrote,
And made a grand Monopoly of Wit.
Blunt Topick he bestow'd, the bounteous Store,
(He's made the Nation Rich, who found them Poor,)
To be a lasting Fund, so Heav'n hoards Rain!
To be dispens'd in gentle Show'rs again.
With solemn Stanzas, lift his awful Name:
Soft be your Notes, and melting as his Song,
Which charms our Orb, if not th'Angelick throng.
Lively Ideas in your Numbers shine,
A beauteous Image spangle ev'ry Line;
Don't stumble, and resume the dull Defence,
Exhausted is the Magazine of Sense.
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Makes ev'ry Muse turn mute, great Steele has wrote,
And made a grand Monopoly of Wit.
Blunt Topick he bestow'd, the bounteous Store,
(He's made the Nation Rich, who found them Poor,)
To be a lasting Fund, so Heav'n hoards Rain!
To be dispens'd in gentle Show'rs again.
Immortal Bard, your useful Works presage,
You'll stifle Vice, or hurry't off the Stage;
Reform the Morals of a vicious Age.
With heav'nly Plumage, towrs your lofty Muse,
Inspires with Zeal, revives extinguish'd Vows:
Paints Virtue in her conquering Charms, your Quill
Limns Vices haggar'd Face with utmost Skill;
We're forc'd to hate her, ev'n against our Will:
You shoot keen Arrows, with gigantick Pith,
Vice hides her guilty Head and thinks on Death;
Your Pencil 'twas the Christian Hero drew,
The wond'ring World, the Minature did View,
And said the Painter was the Picture too.
You'll stifle Vice, or hurry't off the Stage;
Reform the Morals of a vicious Age.
With heav'nly Plumage, towrs your lofty Muse,
Inspires with Zeal, revives extinguish'd Vows:
Paints Virtue in her conquering Charms, your Quill
Limns Vices haggar'd Face with utmost Skill;
We're forc'd to hate her, ev'n against our Will:
You shoot keen Arrows, with gigantick Pith,
Vice hides her guilty Head and thinks on Death;
Your Pencil 'twas the Christian Hero drew,
The wond'ring World, the Minature did View,
And said the Painter was the Picture too.
Your labour'd Plays have Fancy's utmost Touch,
Good Humour which could warm the heavy Dutch
Awakes the flaging Soul with glowing Heat;
The Characters are Just, the Language sweet.
A thousand Beauties throng the pompous Page,
All Otway's Softness, mixt with Oldham's Rage;
Like Shakspear's Works, they'll flourish in old Age.
Could Ben rise from his Dust, he'd blush to see,
How far out-done by Addison and Thee.
With Rev'rence, distant Nations speak of you;
Unto thy Spectatorial Wisdom bow.
Good Humour which could warm the heavy Dutch
Awakes the flaging Soul with glowing Heat;
The Characters are Just, the Language sweet.
A thousand Beauties throng the pompous Page,
All Otway's Softness, mixt with Oldham's Rage;
Like Shakspear's Works, they'll flourish in old Age.
Could Ben rise from his Dust, he'd blush to see,
How far out-done by Addison and Thee.
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Unto thy Spectatorial Wisdom bow.
Our watchful Guardian, whose unweary'd Care,
Helpt often to support the Regal Chair,
Thy learned Pleadings for the Royal Line,
Will make your Name in Britain's Annals shine;
What noble Ardors fir'd the Patriots Breast,
When Senate was with factious Foes oppress'd;
You like great Cæsar spoke, like him you wrote;
And when excluded by the Torry Vote,
Your loyal Pen in Royal George's Cause,
Convinc'd the World by Reason and by Laws;
Cut thro' the Film, obscur'd the Eyes of Men,
The noblest Cause manag'd by the noblest Pen:
Such dint of Argument is us'd by thee,
You fright moe from their Crimes, than Tyburn Tree.
Helpt often to support the Regal Chair,
Thy learned Pleadings for the Royal Line,
Will make your Name in Britain's Annals shine;
What noble Ardors fir'd the Patriots Breast,
When Senate was with factious Foes oppress'd;
You like great Cæsar spoke, like him you wrote;
And when excluded by the Torry Vote,
Your loyal Pen in Royal George's Cause,
Convinc'd the World by Reason and by Laws;
Cut thro' the Film, obscur'd the Eyes of Men,
The noblest Cause manag'd by the noblest Pen:
Such dint of Argument is us'd by thee,
You fright moe from their Crimes, than Tyburn Tree.
Great Sir,
Scotia who once, proud Neighbours did disdain,
Scorn'd hostile Foes, and mock'd a foreign Chain;
Baffled a Roman Power, and made them yield,
Seldom appear'd, save Victor in the Field,
Glory'd in her Name, The independent Scot ,
Ere Englands Arms was quarter'd in her Coat,
With hungry Looks, holds up her ghostly Face,
Her palsey Hands, point to the lonely Place,
Where Laws were fram'd, where sat th'illustrious
Grief, more than Age, hath furrowed her Brow;
She sobs her Sorrows, yet she smiles on you;
Tears from their chrystal Limbicks do distil,
With throbing Breast, she dreads th'approaching ill;
Yet still She loves you, tho' you come to kill.
In midst of Fears and Wounds, which she doth feel,
Kisses the hurting Hand, smiles on the wounding
Scorn'd hostile Foes, and mock'd a foreign Chain;
Baffled a Roman Power, and made them yield,
Seldom appear'd, save Victor in the Field,
Glory'd in her Name, The independent Scot ,
Ere Englands Arms was quarter'd in her Coat,
With hungry Looks, holds up her ghostly Face,
Her palsey Hands, point to the lonely Place,
Where Laws were fram'd, where sat th'illustrious
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She sobs her Sorrows, yet she smiles on you;
Tears from their chrystal Limbicks do distil,
With throbing Breast, she dreads th'approaching ill;
Yet still She loves you, tho' you come to kill.
In midst of Fears and Wounds, which she doth feel,
Kisses the hurting Hand, smiles on the wounding
Steele.
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