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Now
would
all
the
waves
were
women
,
then
I
'd
go
drown
,
and
chassee
with
them
evermore
!
There
's
naught
so
sweet
on
earth
-
heaven
may
not
match
it
!
-
as
those
swift
glances
of
warm
,
wild
bosoms
in
the
dance
,
when
the
over-arboring
arms
hide
such
ripe
,
bursting
grapes
.
SICILIAN
SAILOR
(
Reclining
)
Tell
me
not
of
it
!
Hark
ye
,
lad
-
fleet
interlacings
of
the
limbs
-
lithe
swayings
-
coyings
-
flutterings
!
lip
!
heart
!
hip
!
all
graze
:
unceasing
touch
and
go
!
not
taste
,
observe
ye
,
else
come
satiety
.
Eh
,
Pagan
?
(
Nudging
.
)
TAHITAN
SAILOR
(
Reclining
on
a
mat
)
Hail
,
holy
nakedness
of
our
dancing
girls
!
-
the
Heeva-Heeva
!
Ah
!
low
veiled
,
high
palmed
Tahiti
!
I
still
rest
me
on
thy
mat
,
but
the
soft
soil
has
slid
!
I
saw
thee
woven
in
the
wood
,
my
mat
!
green
the
first
day
I
brought
ye
thence
;
now
worn
and
wilted
quite
.
Ah
me
!
-
not
thou
nor
I
can
bear
the
change
!
How
then
,
if
so
be
transplanted
to
yon
sky
?
Hear
I
the
roaring
streams
from
Pirohitee
's
peak
of
spears
,
when
they
leap
down
the
crags
and
drown
the
villages
?
-
The
blast
,
the
blast
!
Up
,
spine
,
and
meet
it
!
(
Leaps
to
his
feet
.
)
PORTUGUESE
SAILOR
How
the
sea
rolls
swashing
'
gainst
the
side
!
Stand
by
for
reefing
,
hearties
!
the
winds
are
just
crossing
swords
,
pell-mell
they
'll
go
lunging
presently
.
DANISH
SAILOR
Crack
,
crack
,
old
ship
!
so
long
as
thou
crackest
,
thou
holdest
!
Well
done
!
The
mate
there
holds
ye
to
it
stiffly
.
He
's
no
more
afraid
than
the
isle
fort
at
Cattegat
,
put
there
to
fight
the
Baltic
with
storm-lashed
guns
,
on
which
the
sea-salt
cakes
!
4TH
NANTUCKET
SAILOR
He
has
his
orders
,
mind
ye
that
.
I
heard
old
Ahab
tell
him
he
must
always
kill
a
squall
,
something
as
they
burst
a
waterspout
with
a
pistol
-
fire
your
ship
right
into
it
!
ENGLISH
SAILOR
Blood
!
but
that
old
man
's
a
grand
old
cove
!
We
are
the
lads
to
hunt
him
up
his
whale
!
ALL
Aye
!
aye
!
OLD
MANX
SAILOR
How
the
three
pines
shake
!
Pines
are
the
hardest
sort
of
tree
to
live
when
shifted
to
any
other
soil
,
and
here
there
's
none
but
the
crew
's
cursed
clay
.
Steady
,
helmsman
!
steady
.
This
is
the
sort
of
weather
when
brave
hearts
snap
ashore
,
and
keeled
hulls
split
at
sea
.
Our
captain
has
his
birthmark
;
look
yonder
,
boys
,
there
's
another
in
the
sky
lurid
-
like
,
ye
see
,
all
else
pitch
black
.
