CHAPTER 37
Sunset
The cabin; by the stern windows; Ahab sitting alone, and gazing out.
I leave a white and turbid wake; pale waters, paler cheeks,
where'er I sail. The envious billows sidelong swell to whelm my track;
let them; but first I pass.
Yonder, by the ever-brimming goblet's rim, the warm waves blush
like wine. The gold brow plumbs the blue. The diver sun--
slow dived from noon--goes down; my soul mounts up! she
wearies with her endless hill. Is, then, the crown too heavy
that I wear? this Iron Crown of Lombardy. Yet is it bright
with many a gem; I the wearer, see not its far flashings;
but darkly feel that I wear that, that dazzlingly confounds.
'Tis iron--that I know--not gold. 'Tis split, too--that I feel;
the jagged edge galls me so, my brain seems to beat against
the solid metal; aye, steel skull, mine; the sort that needs
no helmet in the most brain-battering fight!
Dry heat upon my brow? Oh! time was, when as the sunrise nobly
spurred me, so the sunset soothed. No more. This lovely light,
it lights not me; all loveliness is anguish to me, since I can
ne'er enjoy. Gifted with the high perception, I lack the low,
enjoying power; damned, most subtly and most malignantly!
damned in the midst of Paradise! Good night--good night!
(waving his hand, he moves from the window.
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