 | Leaves of grass (1872) |  |
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O the whaleman's joys! O I cruise my old cruise again!I feel the ship's motion under me—I feel the Atlantic breezes fanning me,
I bear the cry again sent down from the mast-head—There—she blows!
—Again I spring up the rigging, to look with the rest—We see—we descend, wild with excitement,
I leap in the lower'd boat—We row toward our prey, where he lies,
We approach, stealthy and silent—I see the mountainous mass, lethargic, basking,
I see the harpooneer standing up—I see the weapon dart from his vigorous arm:
O swift, again, now, far out in the ocean, the wounded whale, settling, running to windward, tows me;
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I see a lance driven through his side, press'd deep, turn'd in the wound,
Again we back off—I see him settle again—the life is leaving him fast,
As he rises, he spouts blood—I see him swim in circles narrower and narrower, swiftly cutting the water—I see him die;
He gives one convulsive leap in the centre of the circle, and then falls flat and still in the bloody foam.
| Leaves of grass (1872) | |