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264 To go to battle! to hear the bugles play, and the drums
 * beat!

To hear the artillery! to see the glittering of the bayonets
 * and musket-barrels in the sun!

To see men fall and die and not complain! To taste the savage taste of blood! to be so devilish! To gloat so over the wounds and deaths of the enemy.

O the whaleman's joys! I cruise my old cruise
 * again!

I feel the ship's motion under me—I feel the Atlantic
 * breezes fanning me,

I hear the cry again sent down from the mast-head,
 * There she blows,

Again I spring up the rigging, to look with the rest—
 * We see—we descend, wild with excitement,

I leap in the lowered boat—We row toward our prey,
 * where he lies,

We approach, stealthy and silent—I see the mountainous
 * mass, lethargic, basking,

I see the harpooner standing up—I see the weapon
 * dart from his vigorous arm;

O swift, again, now, far out in the ocean, the wounded
 * whale, settling, running to windward, tows me,

Again I see him rise to breathe—We row close
 * again,

I see a lance driven through his side, pressed deep,
 * turned in the wound.

Again we back off—I see him settle again—the life
 * is leaving him fast.

As he rises, he spouts blood—I see him swim in circles
 * narrower and narrower, swiftly cutting the
 * water—I see him die,