Who tracks the steps of glory to the grave?

My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief, Are mine alone!

But beef is rare within these oxless isles; Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton; And, when a holiday upon them smiles, A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on.

Thy decay's still impregnate with divinity.

Love rules the camp, the court, the grove - for love is Heaven, and Heaven is love.

This is the patent age of new inventions for killing bodies, and for saving souls. All propagated with the best intentions.

There is something to me very softening in the presence of a woman, some strange influence, even if one is not in love with them, which I cannot at all account for, having no very high opinion of the sex. But yet, I always feel in better humor with myself and every thing else, if there is a woman within ken.