“Then did he fling his chalice
Into the surging main,
He watched it sink and vanish—
And never drank again.”
“Here's to the King of Thule!” cried one of the guests. And they all drank Vassili's health.
Bozevsky had sprung to his feet; his eyes gleamed strangely. “You may be the King of Thule, Tarnowsky,” he cried in a mocking tone, “but I am the knight Olaf. You know the legend?” His clear insolent eyes surveyed the guests provocatively. “Olaf—you remember—was condemned to death for daring to love the king's daughter. He was at his last banquet. 'Take heed, Olaf,' said the king. 'The headsman stands at the door!' 'Let him stay there, sire, while I bid farewell to life in a last toast!' And standing up—just as I stand here—he raised his glass, as I raise mine:
“I drink to the earth, I drink to the sky,
I drink to the sea and the shore;
I drink to the days that I have seen,
And the days I shall see no more;