The King in Thule (1774)

 

There lived a king in Thule,

Right faithful, to the grave.

He loved a golden goblet

His dying sweetheart gave.

 

He loved it: nothing dearer,

Would not a-feasting go

But soon the cup was lifted

And soon the tears would flow.

 

His time of death approaching,

He counts his towns out, so.

Wills all away, and gladly.

But not the goblet, no.

 

The scene: a royal banquet,

His knights around his knee;

The lofty hall, ancestral,

High-castled by the sea.

 

Then rose the snowy toper;

A toast! to life's last glow!

His sainted cup he catches,

Flings to the foam below.

 

He watched it falling, filling;

He saw it settle, sink.

His eyelids ebb; then never

Another drop to drink.

 

 

Translated by John Frederick Nims