IN Thule lived a monarch,
Still faithful to the grave,
To whom his dying mistressA golden goblet gave.
Beyond all price he deem'd it,
He quaff'd it at each feast;
And, when he drain'd that goblet,
His tears to flow ne'er ceas'd.
And when he felt death near him,
His cities o'er he told,
And to his heir left all things,
But not that cup of gold.
A regal banquet held
In his ancestral ball,
In yonder sea-wash'd castle,'Mongst his great nobles all.
There stood the aged reveller,
And drank his last life's-glow,—Then hurl'd the holy
Into the flood below.
He saw it falling, filling,
And sinking 'neath the main,
His eyes then closed for ever,
He never drank again.
