Моби Дик

The Mast-Head

           Perhapstheywere;orperhapstheremighthavebeenshoalsoftheminthefarhorizon;butlulledintosuchanopium-likelistlessnessofvacant,unconsciousreverieisthisabsent-mindedyouthbytheblendingcadenceofwaveswiththoughts,thatatlastheloseshisidentity;takesthemysticoceanathisfeetforthevisibleimageofthatdeep,blue,bottomlesssoul,pervadingmankindandnature;andeverystrange,half-seen,gliding,beautifulthingthateludeshim;everydimly-discovered,uprisingfinofsomeundiscernibleform,seemstohimtheembodimentofthoseelusivethoughtsthatonlypeoplethesoulbycontinuallyflittingthroughit.Inthisenchantedmood,thyspiritebbsawaytowhenceitcame;becomesdiffusedthroughtimeandspace;likeCrammer’ssprinkledPantheisticashes,formingatlastapartofeveryshoretheroundglobeover.

           Thereisnolifeinthee,now,exceptthatrockinglifeimpartedbyagentlerollingship;byher,borrowedfromthesea;bythesea,fromtheinscrutabletidesofGod.Butwhilethissleep,thisdreamisonye,moveyourfootorhandaninch;slipyourholdatall;andyouridentitycomesbackinhorror.OverDescartianvorticesyouhover.Andperhaps,atmidday,inthefairestweather,withonehalf-throttledshriekyoudropthroughthattransparentairintothesummersea,nomoretoriseforever.Heeditwell,yePantheists!

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