Gold in the mountain, And gold in the glen, And greed in the heart, Heaven having no part, And unsatisfied men.

When Stubb had departed, Ahab stood for a while leaning over the bulwarks; and then, as had been usual with him of late, calling a sailor of the watch, he sent him below for his ivory s...

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!

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…

Did all the lets and bars appear To every just or larger end, Whence should come the trust and c… Youth must its ignorant impulse le… Age finds place in the rear.

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

The appointment was that I should meet my elderly uncle at the riverside, precisely at nine in the morning. The skiff was to be ready, and the apparatus to be brought down by his grizzl...

One that I cherished, Yea, loved as a son - Up early, up late with, My promising one: No use in good nurture,

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...

_For Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkans… Let none misgive we died amiss When here we strove in furious fig… Furious it was; nathless was this Better than tranquil plight,

In time and measure perfect moves All Art whose aim is sure; Evolving rhyme and stars divine Have rules, and they endure. Nor less the Fleet that warred fo…

Ha! ha! ha! ha! hem! clear my throat!—I’ve been thinking over it ever since, and that ha, ha’s the final consequence. Why so? Because a laugh’s the wisest, easiest answer to all that’s ...

After long wars when comes release Not olive wands proclaiming peace Can import dearer share Than stems of Herba Santa hazed In autumn’s Indian air.

Going to it, by the usual way, is like stealing from a heated plain into some cool, deep glen, shady among harboring hills. Sick with the din and soiled with the mud of Fleet Street—whe...