_The Return of the Sire de Nesle… A.D. 16 My towers at last! These rovings… Their thirst is slaked in larger d… The yearning infinite recoils,

In shards the sylvan vases lie, Their links of dance undone, And brambles wither by thy brim, Choked fountain of the sun! The spider in the laurel spins,

He rides at their head; A crutch by his saddle just slants… One slung arm in splints, you see, Yet he guides his strong steed - h… He brings his regiment home -

To go up into a high stone tower is not only a very fine thing in itself, but the very best mode of gaining a comprehensive view of the region round about. It is all the better if this ...

I have a feeling for those ships, Each worn and ancient one, With great bluff bows, and broad i… Ay, it was unkindly done. But so they serve the Obsolete–

The grass shall never forget this… When homeward footing it in the su… After the weary ride by rail, The stripling soldiers passed her… Wounded perchance, or wan and pale…

Some chapters back, one Bulkington was spoken of, a tall, newlanded mariner, encountered in New Bedford at the inn. When on that shivering winter’s night, the Pequod thrust her vindicti...

Silence and solitude may hint (Whose home is in yon piney wood) What I, though tableted, could ne… The din which here befell, And striving of the multitude.

Were shronke into the jawes, as he did never dine. Southeast of Crossman’s Isle lies Hood’s Isle, or McCain’s Beclouded lsle, and upon its south side is a vitreous cove with a wide stra...

The gloomy hulls in armor grim, Like clouds o’er moors have met, And prove that oak, and iron, and… Are tough in fibre yet. But Splendors wane. The sea-fight…

Not Kenesaw high-arching, Nor Allatoona’s glen— Though there the graves lie parchi… Stayed Sherman’s miles of men; From charred Atlanta marching

We drop our dead in the sea, The bottomless, bottomless sea; Each bubble a hollow sigh, As it sinks forever and aye. We drop our dead in the sea,—

The _Charles-and-Emma_ seaward sp… (Named from the carven pair at pro… He so smart, and a curly head, She tricked forth as a bride knows… Pretty stem for the port, I trow!

In bed I muse on Tenier’s boors, Embrowned and beery losels all; A wakeful brain Elaborates pain: Within low doors the slugs of boor…

Nothing more happened on the passage worthy the mentioning; so, after a fine run, we safely arrived in Nantucket. Nantucket! Take out your map and look at it. See what a real corner of ...