Altavasta says:


Today I drove over Rungholt,
the city went under before six hundred years.
Still the waves strike there wildly and infuriate
like at that time, when it destroys Mar.
The machine of the steamer schuetterte, groaned,
from a landing on water it called and hoehnte terribly:
    Trutz, blanks Hans!


Of the North Sea, the murder lake, of the mainland divorced,
lie the friesischen islands in peacetime,
and witnesses of world-destroying rage,
Hallig dips on Hallig from fleeing tide.
The sea gull quarrels already on increasing cotton wool,
the sea-dog suns itself on sandigen plates.
    Trutz, blanks Hans!

In the middle in the ocean sleeps up to the hour
a monster, deeply on the reason.
Its head rests closely forwards England beach,
the schwanzflosse plays with of Brazil sand.
It draws, six hours, the breath inward
and drives it, six hours, again from hinnen.
    Trutz, blanks Hans!

But dismisses once in each century
the Kiemen enormous wassermassen.
Then the Untier deep breath catches up
and whips the waves and falls asleep again.
Thousand humans in the north country drown to much,
rich countries and cities sink to much.
    Trutz, blanks Hans!

Rungholt is rich and becomes always enriches,
no more grain seizes even the groesseste memory.
As at the bloom time in old Rome
here daily the people stream accumulates.
The Saenften carries Syrians and Mohren,
with goldblech and Flitter in noses and ears.
    Trutz, blanks Hans!