Poem by James Clarence Mangan

The King of Thule

Oh! true was his heart while he breathed,
That King over Thule of old,
So she that adored him bequeathed
Him, dying, a beaker of gold.

At banquet and supper for years has
He brimmingly filled it up,
His eyes overflowing with tears as
He drank from that beaker-cup.

When Death came to wither his pleasures
He parceled his cities wide,
His castles, his lands, and his treasures,
But the beaker he laid aside.

They drank the red wine from the chalice,
His barons and marshals brave;
The monarch sat in his rock-palace
Above the white foam of the wave.

And now, growing weaker and weaker
He quaffed his last Welcome to Death,
And hurled the golden beaker
Down into the flood beneath.

He saw it winking and sinking,
And drinking the foam so hoar;
The light from his eyes was shrinking,
Nor drop did he ever drink more.

1. Gone in the Wind
2. Kathaleen Ny-Houlahan
3. Lament for Banba
4. A Farewell to Patrick Sarsfield, Earl of Lucan
5. Duhallow

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