Poems (Hooper)/The Giving of the Goblet

by Lucy Hamilton Hooper

THE GIVING OF THE GOBLET.

"There was a king in Thule,
 Faithful e'en to the grave;
To whom his lov'd one dying
 A golden goblet gave!"—Goethe.

Yes, I am dying, O my king, my husband!
 The life thou'st blest is fading from my heart;
And one last gift my dying hand would proffer
 Ere I from happiness and thee depart!

No saintly relic that thou mayst, when kneeling
 At holy shrine, unto thy reft heart press;
No fond love-token to thy sad gaze sacred
 Amid thine hours of mournful loneliness.

Nor yet a sword, to flash protecting lightning
 Above thee when thy war-shout rends the air.
When death and danger, O belov'd, are near thee
 Dost thou not think that I too will be there?

And when thou'rt kneeling at some holy altar,
 My memory, I know, will with thee dwell;
And, 'mid the silence of thy lonely chamber,
 Thou wilt remember me, alas! too well.

But when the revel reigneth in the palace,
 When flames the torch and flows the wine-cup free,
Thou mayst forget me! E'en amid thy feasting,
 O love! I still would have thee think of me!

Behold my gift—this golden-jewel'd goblet!
 Let it be sacred to thy lips alone!
Drain it at every feast; and while thou'rt drinking,
 Remember me! thy loved, thy lost, thine own!

When comes the moment of our re-uniting,
 When on th' unknown shore I wait for thee,
And when in dying one last draught thou cravest,
 Drink from this goblet then, and drink to me!