The station bar at even,
And she was deeper than the depths
Of water at Lochleven;
She kept my change within her purse,
It came to one-and-seven.
The Volsung Tale.
By W.M.
Oh, fain for the wine was Sigurd, and wild were the songs he sang,
Like the words from the Halls of Music, for glamour was on his tongue,
And he dropped the sword of the Branstock, that trembled in his clutch,