Universo da obra
Universo da obra
When gliding by the Bashee isles we emerged at last upon the great South Sea; were it not for other things, I could have greeted my dear Pacific with uncounted thanks, for now the long supplication of my youth was answered; that serene ocean rolled eastwards from me a thousand leagues of blue.
There is, one knows not what sweet mystery about this sea, whose gently awful stirrings seem to speak of some hidden soul beneath; like those fabled undulations of the Ephesian sod over the buried Evangelist St. John. And meet it is, that over these sea-pastures, wide-rolling watery prairies and Potters’ Fields of all four continents, the waves should rise and fall, and ebb and flow unceasingly; for here, millions of mixed shades and shadows, drowned dreams, somnambulisms, reveries; all that we call lives and souls, lie dreaming, dreaming, still; tossing like slumberers in their beds; the ever-rolling waves but made so by their restlessness.
To any meditative Magian rover, this serene Pacific, once beheld, must ever after be the sea of his adoption. It rolls the midmost waters of the world, the Indian ocean and Atlantic being but its arms. The same waves wash the moles of the new-built Californian towns, but yesterday planted by the recentest race of men, and lave the faded but still gorgeous skirts of Asiatic lands, older than Abraham; while all between float milky-ways of coral isles, and low-lying, endless, unknown Archipelagoes, and impenetrable Japans. Thus this mysterious, divine Pacific zones the world’s whole bulk about; makes all coasts one bay to it; seems the tide-beating heart of earth. Lifted by those eternal swells, you needs must own the seductive god, bowing your head to Pan.
But few thoughts of Pan stirred Ahab’s brain, as standing like an iron statue at his accustomed place beside the mizzen rigging, with one nostril he unthinkingly snuffed the sugary musk from the Bashee isles (in whose sweet woods mild lovers must be walking), and with the other consciously inhaled the salt breath of the new found sea; that sea in which the hated White Whale must even then be swimming. Launched at length upon these almost final waters, and gliding towards the Japanese cruising-ground, the old man’s purpose intensified itself. His firm lips met like the lips of a vice; the Delta of his forehead’s veins swelled like overladen brooks; in his very sleep, his ringing cry ran through the vaulted hull, “Stern all! the White Whale spouts thick blood!”
Moby-Dick; or, The Whale is an 1851 novel by American writer Herman Melville. Narrated by Ishmael, it follows Captain Ahab's obsessive pursuit of Moby Dick, the giant white sperm whale that had taken part of Ahab's leg on a previous voyage of the whaling ship Pequod. Now regarded as one of the central works of the American Renaissance and a Great American Novel, the book received mixed reviews and was a commercial failure during Melville's lifetime. Its opening line, "Call me Ishmael", is among the most famous in world literature.
Ainda não há resenhas para esta obra. A primeira leitura comentada pode começar aqui.
Escolha a arte, confira a disponibilidade e adicione o produto ao carrinho sem sair da experiência.
Adquira Relíquias da Obra e deixe sua marca registrada, criando valor ao item!
Capítulos disponíveis para continuar a leitura.
Nenhuma Relíquia desta obra foi adquirida ainda. Seja o primeiro a eternizar seu nome no acervo oficial!
Conhecer as 100 RelíquiasAinda não há resenhas para esta obra. A primeira leitura comentada pode começar aqui.
Nenhuma posse foi registrada publicamente para esta edição.
Durante a leitura, abra Menu para ajustar a experiência sem sair do capítulo. As preferências de aparência ficam salvas neste aparelho.
Recursos identificados como “em preparo” aparecem para antecipar a evolução do leitor, mas ainda não executam uma ação.
Posso mostrar leituras em destaque, clássicos e Relíquias disponíveis agora no Literúnico.
Escolha um caminho
Dúvidas desta página
As explicações do Aurélio são respostas cadastradas pelo Literúnico.