The Golden Goblet, In Imitation Of Gothe

There was a king in Mon, {62}

A true lover to his grave;

To whom in death his lady

A golden goblet gave.



When Christmas bowls were circling,

And all was joy and cheer,

He passed that goblet from him

With a kiss and with a tear.



When death he felt approaching,

To all his barons bold,

He left some fair dominion--

To none, that cup of gold.



He sate at royal banquet,

With all his lordly train,

In the castle of his fathers,

On the rock above the main.



Upstood the tottering monarch,

And drank the cup's last wine;

Then flung the holy goblet,

Deep, deep, into the brine.



He watch'd it, bubbling, sinking,

Far, far, beneath the wave;

And the light sank from his eyelid,

With the cup his lady gave.