When tempests roar and hell-fiends scream,
The thunders crash, the lightnings gleam,
’Mid biting cold and driving hail
Still grasps the helm, still trims the sail,
Nor deigns to utter coward cries,
But as he lived, so fearless dies,—
Mingles his last faint, bubbling sigh
With the pealing tempest’s banner-cry;—
Then winds are hushed, the billow falls
Where storms were wont to be,