When you go by the Via Aurelia,
As thousands have traveled before,
Remember the Luck of the Soldier
Who never saw Rome any more!
Oh, dear was the lover that kissed him
And dear was the mother that bore,
But then they found his shield in the heather
And he never saw Rome any more!
When you go by the Via Aurelia
That runs from the City to Gaul,
Remember the Luck of the Soldier
Who rose to be master of all!
He carried the sword and the buckler,
He mounted his guard on the Wall,
Then the Legions hailed him as Cæsar,
And he rose to be master of all!
It’s twenty-five marches to Narbo,
It’s forty-five more up the Rhone,
And the end may be death in the heather
Or life on an Emperor’s throne . . .
Rudyard Kipling, “Rimini”