Herman Melville

“ For Clarel--when ye, meeting, scan
In waste the Bagdad caravan,
And solitude puts on the stir,
Clamor, dust, din of Nineveh, ⁠280
As horsemen, camels, footmen all,
Soldier and merchant, free and thrall,
Pour by in tide processional;
So to the novice streamed along
Rolfe's filing thoughts, a wildering throng. ⁠285
Their sway he owned. And yet how Vine--
Who breathed few words, or gave dumb sign--
Him more allured, suggestive more
Of choicer treasure, rarer store
Reserved, like Kidd's doubloons long sought ⁠290
Without the wand. ”

“ From anchor, nor a haven find;
Not less religion's ancient port,
Till the crack of doom, shall be resort
In stress of weather for mankind. ⁠190
Yea, long as children feel affright
In darkness, men shall fear a God ”