History of the Press in Western New York

May we, like Franklin's electric kite,Rise to a great and wondrous heightAnd like himself in honor riseFrom Devil, to stations in the skies.

He who first locked up his form,Pressed him, and a sheet was torn,And a proof of him you now have seen,From God's angelic tokened ream.

Ere the glorious Art that we love was invented,Restoring the lustre Earth wore in her morn,A picture the map of Creation presented,How dread and forbidding—how lost and forlornMore dark than the midnight of dreary November,A pall was spread over the region of mind;The fires of the Past had gone out and no emberWas saved from the wreck to illumine Mankind.

The Genius of Liberty, bleeding and fettered,Lay weak and heart crushed in a pestilent cave.While cowled Superstition, morose and unlettered,Consigned with rude hand murder'd Hope to the grave.Truth walked through the world, with a visage dejected,And Error, appareled in sable, was King;The Harp of the Poet hung mute and neglected,The red rust of ages corroding each string.

Then hail to the Press by which fetters were broken,And dungeons unbarred to the visit of Day-Our glorious Art that in thunder hath spoken,The night-hag of Ignorance scaring away.Plumed minions of Pomp, with their pagentry hollow,Before its effulgence dissolving, grew paleAs vapory clouds at the smile of ApolloRoll back, and the face of the waters unveil.

And hail to our brother, calm Tamer of lightning,The Pride of his country, and Terror of Kings!Whose fame, though his body in dust, ever bright'ningA pure, holy light on America flings.The Staff of the Sage in his hand was a weaponThat aided in conflict a Washington's glove;While prize we the relic, no foe the will dare step onThe green turf that covers a Patriot's grave.Avon, January 12th, 1847.

" 'Twas the voice of the Press—on the startled ear breakingIn giant-born prowess, like Pallas of old;'Twas the flash of intelligence gloriously wakingA glow on the cheek of the noble and bold;And Tyranny minions o'erawed and affrighted,Sought a lasting retreat in the cloister and cowl.And the chains which bound nations in ages benightedWere cast to the haunts of the bat and the owl."

" 'Tis this sustains that course licentious tribeOf tenth-rate typemen, gaping for a bribeThat reptile race, with all that's good at strife,Who trail their slime through every walk of life,Stain the white tablet where the great man's nameStands proudly chiseled by the hand of fame;Nor round the sacred fireside fear to crawl,But drop their venom there and poison all."

"All are not such? On no, there are, thaink HeavenA noble troop to whom the trust is given.Who all, unbribed, on Freedoms rampart's standFaithful and firm, bright wardens of the land.By them the Press stil lifts its arms abroad,To guide all-curious man along life's road;To cheer young Genius, Pit's tear to start,In Truth's bold cause to rouse each fearless heart."

"Who, born for the Universe, ne'er narrow'd his mind.Nor to Party gave up what was meant for Mankind."

He called down Lightning from the Sky,And, e'er the Thunder made reply,The flash, like Inspiration, came,Heaven's own pure fire through all his frame;Not the dread bolt, whose sudden strokeProstrates the Tower or rends the Oak;A touch, a pulse, a spark revealedA secret from all ages sealed;One trembling moment, in its flight,Drew such a train of wondrous light,That his wrapt spirit seemed to pierceThe mystery of the Universe;And scan the Power, which like a Soul,Informs, expands and rules the whole,God's hidden minister, whose willAll Nature's Elements fulfil.

There standing, when the deed was done,That victory of Science won.He planted where his foot had trodHis conquering Spear—the Electric Rod !A trophy, simple and sublime—His monument, defying Time.

That was to him a glorious day.Whose time can never pass away;Philosophy had triumphed there,A nobler Wreath he lived to share;He lived, a brighter day to see—His country by the PRESS made free !