I'll Meet The Raging Of The Skies,

For There No Yew Nor Cypress Spread Their Glom But Roses Blossom'd Each Rustic Tomb.

Tomorrow Let Us Do Or Die!

Beauty's Witching Sway Is Now To Me A Star That's Fallen-a Dream That's Passed Away.

Britannia Needs No Bulwarks, No Towers Along The Steep; Her March Is O'er The Mountain Waves, Her Home Is On The Deep.

To Live In Hearts We Leave Behind Is Not To Die.