I See Before Me The Gladiator Lie.

There Is A Tear For All Who Die, A Mourner O'er The Humblest Grave.

I Only Go Out To Get Me A Fresh Appetite For Being Alone.

Scion Of Chiefs And Monarchs, Where Art Thou? Fond Hope Of Many Nations, Art Thou Dead? Could Not The Grave Forget Thee, And Lay Low Some Less Majestic, Less Beloved Head?

I Am The Very Slave Of Circumstance And Impulse -- Borne Away With Every Breath!

No Hand Can Make The Clock Strike For Me The Hours That Are Passed.