A Small Drop Of Ink Makes Thousands,

Lord Of Himself; That Heritage Of Woe!

I See Before Me The Gladiator Lie.

I Loved My Country, And I Hated Him.

Of All The Horrid, Hideous Notes Of Woe, Sadder Than Owl-songs Or The Midnight Blast; Is That Portentous Phrase, "i Told You So.

Then Stirs The Feeling Infinite, So Felt In Solitude, Where We Are Least Alone.