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.