人要管理海里的鱼，空中的鸟，地上的走兽，和全地，并地上所爬的一切昆虫。在马达凯特附近的一处咸淡浅滩上，海面仍在猛烈地翻腾，夜幕已降临到我们的北大西洋舰队，这时，那个溺死的水手抓住了拖网。他那乱蓬蓬的头和大理石般的脚上闪着光，他用盘绕的、跨栏的大腿肌肉抓住了网;尸体没有血色，一团红白相间，眼睛睁得大大的就像一艘搁浅的满是沙子的船的死光或者船舱的窗户。我们称量它的重量，闭上它的眼睛，把它从它来的地方抛向大海，在那里，那只长着脚后跟的角鲨冲着它的鼻子在亚哈的额头上狂吠;名字是用黄色粉笔写的。水手们，你们把它投在海上的预兆那里无畏者会忏悔这是地狱般的神当你们无力将这大西洋的堡垒沙袋，面对着大地的震动，绿色的，不知疲倦的，贞洁的钢鳞;不要祈求孤琴拨动生命的琴弦。钢铁舰队的大炮后撤，然后重复沙哑的敬礼。每当风刮起，风的气息吹在这码头用绳子拴着的舷墙上时，这水域里的燕鸥和海鸥就会为你的死而颤抖。 Sailor, can you hear The Pequod's sea wings, beating landward, fall Headlong and break on our Atlantic wall Off 'Sconset, where the yawing S-boats-splash The bellbuoy, with ballooning spinnakers, As the entangled, screeching mainsheet clears The blocks: off Madaket, where lubbers lash The heavy surf and throw their long lead squids For blue-fish? Sea-gulls blink their heavy lids Seaward. The winds'wings beat upon the stones, Cousin, and scream for you and the claws rush At the sea's throat and wring it in the slush Of this old Quaker graveyard where the bones Cry out in the long night for the hurt beast Bobbing by Ahab's whaleboats in the East. III All you recovered from Poseidon died With you, my cousin, and the harrowed brine Is fruitless on the blue beard of the god, Stretching beyond us to the castles in Spain, Nantucket's westward haven. To Cape Cod Guns, cradled on the tide, Blast, the eelgrass about a waterclock Of bilge and backwash, roil the salt and the sand Lashing earth's scaffold, rock Our warships in the hand Of the great God, where time's contrition blues Whatever it was these Quaker sailor's lost In the mad scramble of their lives. They died When time was open-eyed, Wooden and childish; only bones abide There, in the nowhere, where their boats were tossed Sky-high, where mariners had fabled news Of IS, the whited monster. what it cost Them is their secret. In the sperm-whale's slick I see the Quakers drown and hear their cry: "If God himself had not been by our side, If God himself had not been on our side, When the Atlantic rose against us, why, Then it had swallowed us up quick." IV This is the end of the whaleroad and the whale Who spewed Nantucket bones on the thrashed swell And stirred the troubled waters to whirlpools To send the Pequod packing off to hell: This is the end of them, three quarters fools, Snatching at straws to sail Seaward and seaward on the turntail whale, Spouting out blood and water as it rolls Sick as a dog to these Atlantic shoals: Clamavimus, O depths. Let the sea-gulls wail For water, for the deep where the high tide Mutters to its hurt self, mutters and ebbs. Waves wallow in their wash, go out and out, Leave only the death-rattle of the crabs, The beach increasing, its enormous snout Sucking the ocean's side. This is the end of running on the waves; We are poured out like water. who will dance The mast-lashed master of Leviathans Up from this field of Quakers in their unstoned graves? V When the whales viscera go and the roll Of its corruption overruns this world Beyond tree-swept Nantucket and Wood's Hole whistle and fall and sink into the fat? In the great ash-pit of Jehoshapat The bones cry for the blood of the white whale, The fat flukes arch and whack about its ears, The death-lance churns into the sanctuary, tears The gun-blue swingle, heaving like a flail, And hacks the coiling life out: it works and drags And rips the sperm-whale's midriff into rags, Gobbets of blubber spill to wind and weather, Sailor and gulls go round the stoven timbers Where the morning stars sing out together And thunder shakes the white surf and dismembers The red flag hammered in the mast-head. Hide Our steel, Jonas Messias, in Thy side. VI Our Lady of Walsingham There once the penitents took off thei