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 My honour'd Friend Dr. P---k,
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| II. |
| III. |
 | Streams from Helicon |  |
61
TO My honour'd Friend Dr. P---k,
Author of the Description of Tweddale, and Miscellany Poems.
Proud
England boasts to be the Muses seat,
Glorys in Spencer's Flights, and Cowley's Heat,
Ben. Johnston's toiling Head, and Shakespear's Plays,
Dryden's bright Wit, and Waller's melting Lays,
Milton's inspired Thoughts, and Denham's Strains,
Who sung the sweetest of the English Swains.
Glorys in Spencer's Flights, and Cowley's Heat,
Ben. Johnston's toiling Head, and Shakespear's Plays,
Dryden's bright Wit, and Waller's melting Lays,
Milton's inspired Thoughts, and Denham's Strains,
Who sung the sweetest of the English Swains.
These are the Muses darling Sons I own,
Yet equaliz'd by Bards born in our frigid Zone:
Fam'd Scotia's snowy Hills hath giv'n Birth,
To Wits and Warriours, famous thro' the Earth.
On barren Heaths, which never felt the Plow,
Ripen'd with cold, the richest Learning grew.
Toss'd in cold Cliffs of Caledonia's Coasts,
With Borea's Blasts, and Hyperborean Frosts:
Th'admired Drummond dropt cœlestial Lines,
Learning in which, and boundless Fancy shines.
Seraphick Notes flow'd from Buchanan's Quill,
Too great for Man; almost for Angels Skill.
Immortal Douglass in his hermit Cell,
Drunk with the Streams of Heliconian Well,
Reelling with Raptures in a rapid Strain,
Virgil Translates and brightens up his Fame:
Stirling and Maitland have eternal Names,
All know the Muses welcome to King JAMES;
Where Constellations of bright Wits appear,
With Knowledge fill the Soul, and charm the Ear:
Crawford of late, the British Ovid grew,
And you'r Great Sir, the British Ovid now.
Could Wishes but prevail, I'd wish my Name,
Like yours, might fly upon the Wings of Fame;
I wish my Worth did equalize my Will,
That I in Nature's Secrets had thy Skill,
And could express them with thy matchless Quill:
Happy the People whom you live among;
Sure 'tis their daily Prayer that you live long;
Their Healths preserv'd by you, their Pleasure by thy Song.
Yet equaliz'd by Bards born in our frigid Zone:
Fam'd Scotia's snowy Hills hath giv'n Birth,
To Wits and Warriours, famous thro' the Earth.
On barren Heaths, which never felt the Plow,
Ripen'd with cold, the richest Learning grew.
Toss'd in cold Cliffs of Caledonia's Coasts,
With Borea's Blasts, and Hyperborean Frosts:
Th'admired Drummond dropt cœlestial Lines,
Learning in which, and boundless Fancy shines.
62
Too great for Man; almost for Angels Skill.
Immortal Douglass in his hermit Cell,
Drunk with the Streams of Heliconian Well,
Reelling with Raptures in a rapid Strain,
Virgil Translates and brightens up his Fame:
Stirling and Maitland have eternal Names,
All know the Muses welcome to King JAMES;
Where Constellations of bright Wits appear,
With Knowledge fill the Soul, and charm the Ear:
Crawford of late, the British Ovid grew,
And you'r Great Sir, the British Ovid now.
Could Wishes but prevail, I'd wish my Name,
Like yours, might fly upon the Wings of Fame;
I wish my Worth did equalize my Will,
That I in Nature's Secrets had thy Skill,
And could express them with thy matchless Quill:
Happy the People whom you live among;
Sure 'tis their daily Prayer that you live long;
Their Healths preserv'd by you, their Pleasure by thy Song.
| Streams from Helicon | |