At Island Bridge she met her tide. Attabom, attabom, attabombomboom! The Fin had a flux and his Ebba a ride. Attabom, attabom, attabombomboom! We're all up to the years in hues and cribies. That's what she's done for wee! Woe! Nomad may roam with Nabuch but let naaman laugh at Jor- dan! For we, we have taken our sheet upon her stones where we have hanged our hearts in her trees; and we list, as she bibs us, by the waters of babalong.