 | 1764 - 524 lehte
...hands. Curit be he, the willing Have, Who doubts, who lingers to be brave. Curd be ihc coward tongue that dare Breathe one accent of defpair, Cold as Winter's...you, who ride the deep, And bid our thunders wake or Леер, As Pity pleads, or Glory с a ¡ ;______ Monarchs of your wooden walls ! Midft our mingling... | |
 | Moses Mendez - 1770 - 334 lehte
...doubts, who lingers to be brave. Curft be the coward tongue that dare Breathe one accent of deipair, Cold as winter's icy hand To chill the genius of the...you, who ride the deep, And bid our thunders wake or fteep, As pity leads, or glory calls Monarchs of your wooden walls ! Mid (I our mingling leas and [fkies... | |
 | 1758 - 748 lehte
...and ¡;i inlh bands. Curs'd be he, the wi'ling Have, Who doubts, wlio lingers to be brave: CurAt tlie coward tongues that dare Breathe one accent of defpair, Cold as winter's icy hand, To •• ill the genius of the hnJ. Ch.ifly yon v« ho ride the deep, And b<d4)Ut;thbrtd«Ts wake or... | |
 | 1795 - 532 lehte
...doubts, who lingers to be brave. Curst be the coward tongue that dare Breathe one accent of despair, Cold as Winter's icy hand, To chill the Genius of the land. Chiefly you, who ride the deep, And bid your thunders wake or sleep, As pity pleads, or glory calls — ^— Monarchs of our wooden walls 1... | |
 | Alexander Chalmers - 1810 - 656 lehte
...doubts, who lingers to be brave. Curst be the coward tongue that dare Breathe one accent of despair, Cold as Winter's icy hand, To chill the genius of...you, who ride the deep, And bid our thunders wake or sleep As pity pleads, or glory calls — Mooarchs of our wooden walls ! Midst your mingling seas and... | |
 | John Byrom - 1814 - 512 lehte
...doubts, who lingers to be brave! Curst be the coward tongue, that dare Breathe one accent of despair, Cold as Winter's icy hand To chill the genius of the land. If protected commerce keep Her tenor o'er yon heaving deep, What have we from war to fear? Commerce... | |
 | Edmund Kemper Broadus - 1921 - 258 lehte
...doubts, who lingers to be brave. Curst be the coward tongue that dare Breathe one accent of despair, Cold as Winter's icy hand To chill the genius of the land. Chiefly you, who ride the deep, And bids our thunders wake or sleep As pity pleads, or glory calls — Monarchs of our wooden walls ! Midst... | |
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T is the present now demands British hearts, and British hands. Curst be he, the willing slave, Who doubts, who lingers to be brave. Curst be the coward tongue that dare Breathe one accent of despair, Cold as Winter's icy hand, To chill the genius of... 