In Jackson's Hall, where eagles soar,
Stirred not the sea of silver lore.
No storm did rise, no thunder roar,
The dollar's dance steady once more.

In German lands, the hearth grows cold,
As men of commerce tales have told.
The seers index, bleak and bold,
Foresees a future bought and sold.

Stand'rd Chartered, with wings of might,
Abandons flight in dimming light.
For Saudi wealth did cast its sight,
And claimed the sky-borne steed outright.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur