From ‘The Saya-y-Manto.’ While now the Pole Star sinks fro… The Southern Cross it climbs the… But losing thee, my love, my light… O bride but for one bridal night,

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,

Some days elapsed, and ice and icebergs all astern, the Pequod now went rolling through the bright Quito spring, which, at sea, almost perpetually reigns on the threshold of the eternal...

(Indicative of the Passion of the… on the 15th Day of April, 1865) * * * Good Friday was the day Of the prodigy and crime,

How often in the years that close, When truce had stilled the sieging… The soldiers, mounting on their wo… With mutual curious glance have ru… From face to face along the fronti…

To have known him, to have loved h… After loneness long; And then to be estranged in life, And neither in the wrong; And now for death to set his seal—

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

About the Shark, phlegmatical one… Pale sot of the Maldive sea, The sleek little pilot-fish, azure… How alert in attendance be. From his saw-pit of mouth, from hi…

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, ...

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...

Though the Clerk of the Weather i… And lay down the weather-law, Pintado and gannet they wist That the winds blow whither they l… In tempest or flaw.

“Such a queer dream, King-Post, I never had. You know the old man’s ivory leg, well I dreamed he kicked me with it; and when I tried to kick back, upon my soul, my little man, I kicked ...

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...

We fish, we fish, we merrily swim, We care not for friend nor for foe… Our fins are stout, Our tails are out, As through the seas we go.

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