The hirsute Captain, not displeased to see a68
New bonne bouche added to the destined roast
His floating larder had prepared for Freya,
Welcomed the dog, as Charon might a ghost;
Allow'd the beast to share his master's platter,
And daily eyed them both,—and thought them fatter!
Ev'n in such straits, the Knight of golden tongue69
Confronts his foe with arguings just and sage,
Whether in pearls from deeps Druidic strung,
Or link'd synthetic from the Stagirite's page,
Labouring to show him how absurd the notion,
That roasting Gawaine would affect the Ocean.
But that enlighten'd though unlearnèd man,70
Posed all the lore Druidical or Attic;
"One truth," quoth he, "instructs the Sons of Ran
(A seaman race are always democratic),
That truth once known, all else is worthless lumber:
'The greatest pleasure of the greatest number.'
"No pleasure like a Christian roasted slowly,71
To Odin's greatest number can be given;
The will of freemen to the gods is holy;
The People's voice must be the voice of Heaven.
On selfish principles you chafe at capture,
But what are private pangs to public rapture?
"You doubt that giving you as food for Freya72
Will have much mark'd effect upon the seas;
Let's grant you right:—all pleasure's in idea;
If thousands think it, you the thousands please.
Your private interest must not be the guide,
When interests clash majorities decide."
These doctrines, wise, and worthy of the race73
From whose free notions modern freedom flows,
Bore with such force of reasoning on the case,
They left the Knight dumbfounded at the close;
Foil'd in the weapons which he most had boasted,
He felt sound logic proved he should be roasted.
Discreetly waiving farther conversations,74
He, henceforth, silent lived his little hour;
Indulged at times such soothing meditations,
As, "Flesh is grass,"—and "Life is but a flower."
For men, like swans, have strains most edifying,
They never think of till the time for dying.
And now at last, the fatal voyage o'er,75
Sir Gawaine hears the joyous shout of "Land!"
Two Vikings lead him courteously on shore:
A crowd as courteous wait him on the strand.
Fifes, viols, trumpets braying, screaming, strumming,
Flatter his ears, and compliment his coming.
Right on the shore the gracious temple stands,76
Form'd like a ship, and budded but of log;
Thither at once the hospitable bands
Lead the grave Knight and unsuspicious dog,
Which, greatly pleased to walk on land once more,
Swells with unprescient bark the tuneful roar.
Six Priests and one tall Priestess clothed in white,77
Advance—and meet them at the porch divine;
With seven loud shrieks, they pounce upon the Knight,—
Whisk'd by the Priests behind the inmost shrine,
While the tall Priestess asks the congregation
To come at dawn to witness the oblation.