Classic Poem

Not Thunders o'er the sea-boy's head,
Whose sounds impetuous roll,
And mark him for a wat'ry bed,
Can shake his stedfast soul.

Still fondly warm'd with patriot fire
He tempts the dang'rous strand,
Still meets aloft the whirlwind's ire,
To guard his native land.

What though beneath the rolling wave
Lies many a dauntless boy,
And many a sailor bold and brave,
The tender fair one's joy;

Though vanquish'd by the billow's pow'r
The valiant yield their breath,
Fame shall record their latest hour,
And bind their brows in death.