But other places, less renowned,
In richer euphony abound
Than the familiar throng;
For instance, there is Beeyah-byyah-bunniga-nelliga-jong.

In childhood's days I took delight
In LEAR'S immortal Dong,
Whose nose was luminously bright,
Who sang a silvery song.
He did not terrify the birds
With strange and unpropitious words
Of double-edged _ontong_;
I'm sure he hailed from Beeyah-byyah-bunniga-nelliga-jong.

_Prince Giglio's_ bag, the fairy's gift,
Helped him to right the wrong,
Encouraged diligence and thrift,
And "opened with a pong;"
But though its magic powers were great
It could not quite ejaculate
A word so proud and strong
And beautiful as Beeyah-byyah-bunniga-nelliga-jong.

I crave no marble pleasure-dome,
No forks with golden prong;
Like HORACE, in a frugal home
I'd gladly rub along,
Contented with the humblest cot
Or shack or hut, if it had got
A name like Billabong,