When I have traversed the streets a houseless wanderer, driven with curses from every door where I have solicited alms, and with blows from every gateway where I have sought shelter,—when I have crept into some deserted building, and stretched my wearied limbs upon a bulk, in the vain hope of repose,—or, worse than all, when, frenzied with want, I have yielded to horrible temptation, and earned a meal in the only way I could earn one,—when I have felt, at times like these, my heart sink within me, I have drank of this drink, and have at once forgotten my cares, my poverty, my guilt. Here were the passionate lovers! What their past had been he neither cared nor craved to know. Before retracing his steps, however, he allowed his gaze to range over the vast and beautiful prospect spread out beneath him, which is now hidden, from the traveller's view by the high walls of the General Cemetery, and can, consequently, only be commanded from the interior of that attractive place of burial,—and which, before it was intersected by canals and railroads, and portioned out into hippodromes, was exquisite indeed. My father died a year ago, by the way. People hounded him about the disappearances mercilessly for weeks after the concert, first the police, then the Becks, then people from school. It's sixteen days down, with The Tigress. [A] Transcribers Note: These versions of the music are included with this file: LilyPond MIDI Acrobat (PDF) PNG (page 1) PNG (page 2) St.
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