I'll meet the raging of the skies, but not an angry father.

But sad as angels for the good man's sin, Weep to record, and blush to give it in.

Ye mariners of England! That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved a thousand years, The battle and the breeze!

Our land, the first garden of liberty's tree-- It has been, and shall be, the land of the free.

The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory or the grave! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry!

The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.

Better be courted and jilted Than never be courted at all.