Come, Hyperborean youth, and we will go

Before the North Sea's door;

The winds shall bring us, as they blow,

The murmurs of foundered shores;

And gods will kiss your young blue eyes,

And I will sing, as soft as lies,

Songs that were made of yore:

I'll sing, to a delighted ear,

The Atlantian lays you love to hear.

And you, while stammering I repeat,

The Doggerlandian tongue shall teach;

Not so soft, but far more sweet,

Than your own native English speech:

For you no other tongue did know,

When, scarcely a moonrise ago,

Upon sunken beaches,

You came to woo me to be yours,

With many a speaking look and sign.

I knew your meaning: you did praise

My eyes, my locks of gold;

Ah! well for me they won your gaze

But you were fairer yet!

I'm glad to see my infant wear

The soft blue eyes and sunny hair,

And when my sight is met

By his white brow and ruddy cheek,

I feel a joy I cannot speak.

Come talk of Atlantis' maids with me,

Whose necks and cheeks, they tell,

Outshine the beauty of the sea,

White foam and crimson shell.

I'll shape like theirs my simple dress,

And bind like them each jetty tress.

A sight to please you well:

And for my dusky brow will braid

A bonnet like a Doggerland maid.

Come, for the soft low sunlight calls,

We lose the pleasant hours;

Lovelier than these dockside ghetto walls:

That seat among the flowers.

And I will learn from you a prayer,

To they, who gave a home so fair,

A lot so blessed as ours:

The hand that sunk, for you and me,

This sweet lone city beneath the sea.