It was nearly six o’clock, but only grey imperfect misty dawn, when we drew nigh the wharf. “There are some sailors running ahead there, if I see right,” said I to Queequeg, “it can’t b...

There is a coal-black Angel With a thick Afric lip, And he dwells (like the hunted and… In a swamp where the green frogs d… But his face is against a City

As Queequeg and I are now fairly embarked in this business of whaling; and as this business of whaling has somehow come to be regarded among landsmen as a rather unpoetical and disreput...

“Let us all servile base subjectio… And as we be sons of the earth so… Let us our father’s heritage divid… And challenge to ourselves our por… Of all the patrimony, which a few

(October, 1864) Shoe the steed with silver That bore him to the fray, When he heard the guns at dawning– Miles away;

Youth is the time when hearts are… And stirring wars Appeal to the spirit which appeals… To the blade it draws. If woman incite, and duty show

YOU see," said poet Blandmour, enthusiastically—as some forty years ago we walked along the road in a soft, moist snowfall, toward the end of March—"you see, my friend, that the blessed...

We had lain thus in bed, chatting and napping at short intervals, and Queequeg now and then affectionately throwing his brown tattooed legs over mine, and then drawing them back; so ent...

That night, in the mid-watch, when the old man—as his wont at intervals—stepped forth from the scuttle in which he leaned, and went to his pivot-hole, he suddenly thrust out his face fi...

It was quite late in the evening when the little Moss came snugly to anchor, and Queequeg and I went ashore; so we could attend to no business that day, at least none but a supper and a...

We rovers bold, To the land of Gold, Over the bowling billows are glidi… Eager to toil, For the golden spoil,

When ocean-clouds over inland hill… Sweep storming in late autumn brow… And horror the sodden valley fills… And the spire falls crashing in th… I muse upon my country’s ills—

Returning to the Spouter-Inn from the Chapel, I found Queequeg there quite alone; he having left the Chapel before the benediction some time. He was sitting on a bench before the fire, ...

Plain be the phrase, yet apt the v… More ponderous than nimble; For since grimed War here laid as… His painted pomp, 'twould ill befi… Overmuch to ply

Lonesome on earth’s loneliest deep… Sailor! who dost thy vigil keep— Off the Cape of Storms dost musin… Over monstrous waves that curl and… Of thee we think when here from br…