Strangest problems of life seem clearing; but clouds sweep between—Is my journey's end coming? My legs feel faint; like his who has footed it all day. Feel thy heart,—beats it yet? Stir thyself, Starbuck!— stave it off—move, move! speak aloud!—Mast-head there! See ye my boy's hand on the hill?—Crazed; aloft there!— keep thy keenest eye upon the boats:—mark well the whale!— Ho! again!—drive
