Love, To Her Ear, Was But A

The Will To Do, The Soul To Dare..

One Hour Of Life, Crowded To The Full With Glorious Action, And Filled With Noble Risks, Is Worth Whole Years Of Those Mean Observances Of Paltry Decorum, In Which Men Steal Through Existence, Like Sluggish Waters Through A Marsh, Without Either Honor Or Observation.

Whose Lenient Sorrows Find Relief, Whose Joys Are Chastened By Their Grief.

Recollect That The Almighty, Who Gave The Dog To Be Companion Of Our Pleasures And Our Toils, Hath Invested Him With A Nature Noble And Incapable Of Deceit.

O Come Ye In Peace Here, Or Come Ye In War, Or To Dance At Our Bridal, Young Lord Lochinvar?