All dripping in tangles green, Cast up by a lonely sea If purer for that, O Weed, Bitterer, too, are ye?

The cavalry-camp lies on the slope Of what was late a vernal hill, But now like a pavement bare– An outpost in the perilous wilds Which ever are lone and still;

The cabin; by the stern windows; Ahab sitting alone, and gazing out. I leave a white and turbid wake; pale waters, paler cheeks, where’er I sail. The envious billows sidelong swell to w...

_Under the Disaster of the Second… They take no shame for dark defeat While prizing yet each victory won… Who fight for the Right through a… Nor pause until their work is done…

Healed of my hurt, I laud the inh… Yea, bless the Angels Four that t… For healed I am even by the pitil… Distilled in wholesome dew named r…

The ribs and terrors in the whale, Arched over me a dismal gloom, While all God’s sun-lit waves rol… And left me deepening down to doom… I saw the opening maw of hell,

Hanging from the beam, Slowly swaying (such the law), Gaunt the shadow on the green, Shenandoah! The cut is on the crown

Some relics of the hut of Oberlus partially remain to this day at the head of the clinkered valley. Nor does the stranger, wandering among other of the Enchanted Isles, fail to stumble ...

Where the wings of a sunny Dome e… I saw a Banner in gladsome air– Starry, like Berenice’s Hair– Afloat in broadened bravery there; With undulating long-drawn flow,

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

By chapel bare, with walls sea-bea… The lichened urns in wilds are los… About a carved memorial stone That shows, decayed and coral-moss… A form recumbent, swords at feet,

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...

Look, the raft, a signal flying, Thin—a shred; None upon the lashed spars lying, Quick or dead. Cries the sea-fowl, hovering over,

Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill In prime of morn and May, Recall ye how McClellan’s men Here stood at bay? While deep within yon forest dim

Entering that gable-ended Spouter-Inn, you found yourself in a wide, low, straggling entry with old-fashioned wainscots, reminding one of the bulwarks of some condemned old craft. On on...