The King of Thule, Piet van der Ouderaa, 1896
There was a king in Thule,
Was faithful till the grave,
To whom his mistress, dying,
A golden goblet gave.
Nought was to him more precious;
He drained it at every bout;
His eyes with tears ran over,
As oft as he drank thereout.
When came his time of dying,
The towns in his land he told,
Nought else to his heir denying
Except the goblet of gold.
He sat at the royal banquet
With his knights of high degree,
In the lofty hall of his father
In the castle by the sea.
There stood the old carouser,
And drank the last life-glow;
And hurled the hallowed goblet
Into the tide below.
He saw it plunging and filling,
And sinking deep in the sea:
Then fell his eyelids for ever,
And never more drank he!
