There was a king in Thule, Was faithful to the grave, Whom she that loved him truly In dying a goblet gave. He found no prize more appealing, Each feast he drained the cup; To his eyes the tears came stealing Whenever he held it up. And when he came to dying, The towns in his realm he enrolled, His heir no prize denying, Except that cup of gold. And at a royal wassail With all his knights sat he In the hall of his father's castle That faces toward the sea. The old carouser slowly Stood up, drank life's last glow, And flung the cup so holy Into the flood below. He saw it plunging, drinking As deep in the sea it sank. His eyes the while were sinking, Not a drop again he drank.