University of Virginia Library

Young Genius walked out by the mountains and streams,
Entranced by the power of his own pleasant dreams,
Till the silent—the wayward—the wandering thing
Found a plume that had fallen from a passing bird's wing:
Exulting and proud, like a boy at his play,
He bore the new prize to his dwelling away;
He gazed for a while on its beauties, and then
He cut it and snapped it, and called it a pen.
For its magical use he discovered not yet
Till he dipped its bright lips in a fountain of jet;
And oh! what a glorious thing it became,
For it spoke to the world in a language of flame;
While its master wrote on, like a being inspir'd,
Till the hearts of the millions were melted or fired;
It came as a boon and a blessing to men,
The peaceful—the pure—the victorious pen!
Young Genius went forth on his rambles once more,
The vast sunless caverns of earth to explore!
He searched the rude rock, and with rapture he found
A substance unknown, which he brought from the ground;
He fused it with fire, and rejoiced in the change,
As he moulded the ore into characters strange,
Till his thoughts and his efforts were crown'd with success,
For an engine uprose and he called it the Press.
The Pen and the Press, blest alliance combin'd
To soften the heart and enliven the mind,
For that to the treasures of knowledge gave birth,
And this sent them forth to the end of the earth;
The battles of truth were triumphant, indeed,
And the rod of the tyrant was snapped like a reed;
They were made to exalt us—to teach us to bless
Those invincible brothers—the Pen and the Press.