#AmericanWriters
As we were walking down the end of the wharf towards the ship, Queequeg carrying his harpoon, Captain Peleg in his gruff voice loudly hailed us from his wigwam, saying he had not suspec...
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…
In behalf of the dignity of whaling, I would fain advance naught but substantiated facts. But after embattling his facts, an advocate who should wholly suppress a not unreasonable surmi...
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...
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.
Far to the northeast of Charles’s Isle, sequestered from the rest, lies Norfolk Isle, and, however insignificant to most voyagers, to me, through sympathy, that lone island has become a...
I quickly followed suit, and descending into the bar-room accosted the grinning landlord very pleasantly. I cherished no malice towards him, though he had been skylarking with me not a ...
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…
I saw a ship of material build (Her standards set, her brave appa… Directed as by madness mere Against a solid iceberg steer, Nor budge it, though the infactuat…
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,
Wandering late by morning seas When my heart with pain was low— Hate the censor pelted me— Deject I saw my shadow go. In elf-caprice of bitter tone
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, ...
What grand irregular thunder, thought I, standing on my hearth-stone among the Acroceraunian hills, as the scattered bolts boomed overhead, and crashed down among the valleys, every bol...
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...
1860-1 The Ancient of Days forever is yo… Forever the scheme of Nature thri… I know a wind in purpose strong— It spins _against_ the way it driv…