Though their firm hearts no pageant honour boast,
They scorn the wretch that trembles at his post;
Who from the face of danger strives to turn,
Indignant from the social hour they spurn;
Though now full oft they felt the raging tide
In proud rebellion climb the vessel’s side;
Though every rising wave more dreadful grows,
And in succession dire the deck o’erflows;
No future ills unknown their souls appal,
They know no danger, or they scorn it all: