Pilgrim! whose steps those desert sands explore,
Where verdure never spreads its bright array;
Know, ’twas on this inhospitable shore
From Pompey’s heart the life-blood ebb’d away.
Twas here betray’d he fell, neglected lay;
Nor found his relics a sepulchral stone,
Whose life, so long a bright triumphal day,
O’er Tiber’s wave supreme in glory shone!
Thou, stranger! if from barbarous climes thy birth,
Look round exultingly, and bless the earth