Is it the Pen? O Pen! we hear thy praise,
Wherever Mind has walked its devious ways!
Thought has been born, in every land and age
Where thy thin lips have kissed the virgin page!
'Twas thee Dan Chaucer used, in time agone,
To goad the Canterbury pilgrims on;
From thee Ben Jonson filled with gold the air,
And made his name a jewel rich and "rare;"
Of thee The Shakespeare, in his soul sublime,
Forged for himself a sceptre, for all time;