Go, trav’ler, unto others boast
Of Venice and Rome;
Of saintly Mark’s majestic pile,
And Peter’s lofty dome;
Of Naples and her trellised bowers;
Of Rhineland far away:—
These may be grand, but give to me
Dunedin from the Bay.

A lovely maiden seated in
A grotto by the shore;
With richest crown of purest green
That virgin ever wore;
Her snowy breast bedecked with flowers
And clustering ferns so gay,—
Go, picture this, and then you have
Dunedin from the Bay.

A fairy, round whose brilliant throne
Great towering giants stand,
As if impatient to obey
The dictates of her wand;
Their helments hidden in the clouds,
Their sandals in the spray—
Go, picture this, and then you have
Dunedin from the Bay.

A priestess of the olden time
(Ere purer rites had birth)
On Nature’s altar offering up
The homage of the earth;
Surrounded by grim Druids, robed
In mantles green and grey—
Go, picture this, and then you have
Dunedin from the Bay.

O never till this breast grows cold
Can I forget that hour,
As standing on the vessel’s deck
I watched the golden shower
Of yellow beams that darted
From the sinking king of day,
And bathed in a mellow flood
Dunedin from the Bay.