There was a king of Thule

There was a King of Thule

True even to the grave

To whom his dying mistress

A golden beaker gave.

Beyond ought else he priz'd it,

And drain'd its purple draught.

His tears came gushing freely

As often as he quaff'd.

When death he felt approaching,

His cities o'er he told

And grudg'd his heir no treasure,

Except his cup of gold.

Girt round with knightly vassals

At a royal feast sat he

In yon proud hall ancestral

In his castle by the sea.

Up stood the jovial monarch

And quaff'd his last life's glow,

Then hurl'd the hallow'd goblet

In the ocean depth below.

He saw it splashing, drinking

And plunging in the sea.

His eyes meanwhile were sinking

And never more drank he.