As I came round the harbour buoy,
The lights began to gleam,
No wave the land-locked water stirred,
The crags were white as cream;
And I marked my love by candle-light
Sewing her long white seam.
It's aye sewing ashore, my dear,
Watch and steer at sea,
It's reef and furl, and haul the line,
Set sail and think of thee.

I climbed to reach her cottage door;
O sweetly my love sings!
Like a shaft of light her voice breaks forth,
My soul to meet it springs
As the shining water leaped of old,
When stirred by angel wings.
Aye longing to list anew,
Awake and in my dream,
But never a song she sang like this,
Sewing her long white seam.

Fair fall the lights, the harbour lights,
That brought me in to thee,
And peace drop down on that low roof
For the sight that I did see,
And the voice, my dear, that rang so clear
All for the love of me.
For O, for O, with brows bent low
By the candle's flickering gleam,
Her wedding gown it was she wrought,
Sewing the long white seam.

It's always been a mystery
Why there's no word in history of the Battle of Copenhagen.

There's never been a parallel
So far as ever l've heard tell
To the fighting and the biting
And the smashing and the crashing
And the lashing and the slashing
And the gnashing and the gashing,
To the yellishness and smellishness
And international hellishness of the Battle of Copenhagen.

Ten thousand stalwart Swedes
Advancing through the weeds to the Battle of Copenhagen.

Unlimited Italians
In column of batallions at the Battle of Copenhagen.

Ten tribes of red Pawnees
Were sulking behind trees at the Battle of Copenhagen.

A platoon of Albanians,
Supported by Ukranians
And also some Roumanians,
The dull ones and the brainy ones, at the Battle of Copenhagen.

Three thousand greasy Greeks,
Arrayed in leathern breeks
And smelling strong of leeks, at the Battle of Copenhagen.

A quantity of Turks
All waving bloody dirks at the Battle of Copenhagen.

Six hundred Abyssinians,
The fat ones and the skinny ones;
Two hundred of the Czeck
With their battle cry, "By Hzeck!" at the Battle of Copenhagen.

Eighteen hundred Scots,
Their plaidies tied in knots
And dangling pewter pots
(The dirty, low-down sots!) at the Battle of Copenhagen.

Two hundred Asiatics
In vari-colored Batiks—
A company of Japs
Bravely shooting craps—
A myriad of Mongolians,
The sinful and the holy ones,
With their friends, two Anatolians at the Battle of Copenhagen.

From out the Boreal Regions
Came a handful of Norwegians
To oppose these countless legions in the Battle of Copenhagen.

A half a million Jews
Ran back to tell the news of the Battle of Copenhagen.