Poems (Hooper)/The Giving of the Goblet
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!