THE FAITHFUL KING OF THULE

A king so true and steady

In Thule lived of old;

To him his dying lady

A goblet gave of gold.

He drank thereout so often,

For all his love it gained;

To tears his eyes would soften

Whene’ er its juice he drained.

When death drew nigh, his spirit

His riches o’ er he told

To him who should inherit —

But not that cup of gold.

By all his knights surrounded

One day he sat at dine,

In hall of fortress, founded

By ocean’ s roaring brine.

The ancient hero rallies

With one more draught his blood,

Then casts the sacred chalice

Below him in the flood.

Deep, deep within the billows

He watched it as it sank;

Then, sinking on his pillows,

No drop more e’ er he drank.