To deck a worthless despot’s brow,
Supplant thy cross[[15]] and golden crown
That floated o’er thy ancient town;
But those the generous arms embraced
With hospitable welcome graced?
But whose is yon form on the lone beach side,
Wrapt in his mantle that streams o’er the tide?
Whose footsteps’ hurried sound,
No measure seems to beat
To aught that breathes around