It is the Viking's daughter,
She is coming over the sea,
The Prince of the Isles has sought her,
His royal bride to be;
Shrill through the shrouds the winds are singing,
The wild white horses chafe and foam,
Their silver manes on the billows flinging,
They bear the maid to her Island home.
From their long slumbers waking,
The Sea Kings of the North,
From ocean's caverns breaking,
In triumph issue forth.
Pride in their flashing eyes is beaming,
They fear not the storm or wreck,
The black Raven Banner is streaming
High o'er each wave-washed deck.
And thus they wildly singing
Come bounding over the wave,
Their voices loud and ringing,
These ocean kings so brave:—
"Joy, joy, through Odin's echoing halls,
Lift up the mead cup rare—
A health! a health!" each chieftain calls,
"To the Viking's daughter fair.
In the happy sea-girt land
Whose white cliffs loom through the mist,
Whose sheltering bays and golden sands
By the rippling sea are kissed,
Long may she loving and beloved
Live in the hearts of the brave,
Whose arms a thousand times have proved
They're the Rulers of the Waves."