The King in Thule

Unto the King in Thule,

Faithful beyond the grave,

His dying sweetheart truly

A golden goblet gave.

This cup, his greatest treasure,

At every feast he’d drain;

His tears, beyond all measure,

Flowed time and time again.

And when his last he’s breathing,

He counts his cities up,

All worldly goods bequeathing,

But not the precious cup.

His knights all ranged around him,

He dines full solemnly,

In those high halls that crowned him,

His castle by the sea.

Old drinker in his palace,

He stood, drank life’s last glow,

And threw the sacred chalice

Into the flood below.

He saw it fall, and drinking,

Founder into the main.

His eyes, too, now are sinking;

He never drank again.

1774