And, after all, you'll think it odd,
When learned doctors will dispute,
That I should point the word of God,
And show where they can best confute.
Let lawyers bawl and strain their throats,
'Tis I that must the lands convey,
And strip their clients to their coats,—
Nay, give their very souls away.
We find also in Pope's epistle of Heloise to Abeillard an allusion to the power of letters as conveying ideas, which seems appropriate in this connexion as illustrating the uses of ink.
Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
Some banished lover, or some captive maid:
They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires;
The virgin's wish without her fears impart,
Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,
Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
And waft a sigh from Indus to the pole.
The genius of Byron (in a playful flash) has illuminated our subject with one of his most brilliant passages:—
But words are things: and a small drop of INK,
Falling like dew upon a thought, produces
That which makes thousands (perhaps millions) think.
A less distinguished poet has, in expressive, and though in quainter, humbler, yet in noble strain, said what is equally appropriate in this place:—
Books are a part of man's prerogative:
In formal INK, they thought and voices hold,
That we to them our solitude may give,
And make time present travel as of old.
