 | Ariel and Caliban with other poems |  |
I.
Before Prospero's cell. Moonlight.Ariel.
So—Prospero is gone—and I am free—
Free, free at last. His latest charge have I
Performed with duteous care; have sent the breeze
To blow behind the ship whose rounded sails
Now bear him homeward; and I am alone.
Yet I, who pined for freedom—I, who served
This lordly mind, not of my own free choice,
Though somewhat out of gratitude,—for he
By his strong sorcery did release me once
From durance horrible,—now, since the touch
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My cold electric blood, and I have known
How sweet it were to love and be beloved
Within the circle of the elements
Whose soulless life is death to human hearts,—
I, here alone, now grieve to be alone,
No longer linked with mortal loves and cares.
For as I flit about the ocean caves,
Or thread the mazes of the whispering pines,
Or in the flower-bells dream long sunny days,
Or run upon the crested waves, or flash
At no one's bidding, but in wild caprice,
A trailing meteor or a thunderbolt,—
Or sing along the breeze that hath no sense
Or soul of hearing, melodies I framed
For Prospero and his child,—I have no will
To work as once, when serving earned this boon
Of liberty, long sought, now tame and cheap.
For what to me are all these air-fed sprites
I marshalled, by his potent art constrained?
Their bloodless cold companionship can give
No joy to me, now half estranged from them.
There 's Caliban, 't is true—a human beast—
Uncouth enough to laugh at—not so vile
Perhaps as he appears—rather misshaped
And thwarted in his growth. And yet he seems
In this fair Isle, where noble souls have lived,
Like a dull worm that trails its slime along
3
Free from the foot of Prospero, all the more
Slave to himself, crawls feeding where he lists.
Enter Caliban in the distance.
Lo, here he creeps, and looks as if he meant
To enter his old master's cell. But no!
I'll enter first, and there assume the voice
Of Prospero. He some sport at least shall yield.
Ah, sometimes I must be a merry sprite,
If only to beguile these lonesome hours.
[Vanishes into the cell.
Caliban.
So—so—the island 's mine now. I may make
My dwelling where I choose. Methinks this cell
Might serve; though somewhat I suspect
Its walls are steeped in magic. And besides,
Too well my bones remember how that lord
Let fly his spirits at me. How he cramped
My limbs! The devil-fish o'ertake his ship!
He 's far away—and I can curse him now,
And no more aches shall follow. As for him,
Yon drunken fellow—and his mate—good Lord,
How I was fooled to gulp his bragging lies!
The man in the moon, forsooth! And yet he bore
Brave liquor, though it set my wits agog.
Would there were more of it. Well, I'll make my bed
4
King Caliban! But I've no subjects yet,
Save beasts of the wood, and even over them
I lack those strong old charms of Sycorax.
[Enters the cell.
Ariel
(within).
Halt there! What man art thou? Slave—Caliban!
Caliban.
Ah, ah! 'T is Prospero back again—Ah me!
Ariel.
How dar'st thou here intrude upon my rest?
Caliban.
Nay now—I cannot tell—I thought thee gone—
I saw thee go.
Ariel.
Think'st thou I cannot leap
Across the seas? Think'st thou I cannot ride
Upon the wind? Know'st thou not Prosper's might?
Caliban.
Do not torment me! Alas, alas, I thought
His book and staff were buried—he at sea!
Ah, here 's a coil—here 's slavery again.
I'll run, before the cramp gets to my legs.
[Exit.
5
(advancing).
Good riddance! He'll not venture here again.
This grot is sacred to remembered forms
'T were base ingratitude could I forget.
Their names make fragrant all the place. They fill
The void of life within me more and more,
And draw me closer to all human-kind.
Much have ye taught me. Thou, O Prospero,
Whom all too grudgingly I served, dost seem
Now not a master, but a gracious friend.
And she—Miranda, peerless in her bloom
Of maidenhood—had I but human been,
What tenderer germs—but no—too late, too late
Those virtues, graces—this proud intellect
That made a sport of magic, and renounced
The sceptre of Wonderland as though it were
The bauble of a child. Too late I see
The topmost glory of the Duke, who shone
Grandest abjuring supernatural gifts—
Most godlike in forgiving his base foes.
(Pauses in deep thought.)
This grot is sacred to remembered forms
'T were base ingratitude could I forget.
Their names make fragrant all the place. They fill
The void of life within me more and more,
And draw me closer to all human-kind.
Much have ye taught me. Thou, O Prospero,
Whom all too grudgingly I served, dost seem
Now not a master, but a gracious friend.
And she—Miranda, peerless in her bloom
Of maidenhood—had I but human been,
What tenderer germs—but no—too late, too late
Those virtues, graces—this proud intellect
That made a sport of magic, and renounced
The sceptre of Wonderland as though it were
The bauble of a child. Too late I see
The topmost glory of the Duke, who shone
Grandest abjuring supernatural gifts—
Most godlike in forgiving his base foes.
There is no life worth living but that life
I missed, the sympathetic interchange
Of mind with mind and heart with heart. This world
Of air and fire and water, where I dwell,
Is but a realm of phantasms—spectral flames
Like the pale streamers of the frozen North;
Is less than half of life—motion without
Life's warm reality—a trance, a dream.
Nay, even this slave—this son of Sycorax
Hath something human in him. Might I now
But find some passage to his heart, but breathe
Into his sluggish brain some finer breath,
But lift him to companionship of thought—
'T were worth the trial. At least I'll follow him
And wind about him with an airy song.
He 's fond of music, for whene'er I sing
He listens open-mouthed. He 's not so bad
But some ethereal trap may snare him yet.
(Sings.)
I missed, the sympathetic interchange
Of mind with mind and heart with heart. This world
Of air and fire and water, where I dwell,
Is but a realm of phantasms—spectral flames
Like the pale streamers of the frozen North;
6
Life's warm reality—a trance, a dream.
Nay, even this slave—this son of Sycorax
Hath something human in him. Might I now
But find some passage to his heart, but breathe
Into his sluggish brain some finer breath,
But lift him to companionship of thought—
'T were worth the trial. At least I'll follow him
And wind about him with an airy song.
He 's fond of music, for whene'er I sing
He listens open-mouthed. He 's not so bad
But some ethereal trap may snare him yet.
I, a spirit of the air,
Now may wander anywhere
All about the enchanted Isle.
But no more the master's smile
Greets me as his door I pass;
I shall hear no more, alas!
Hear no more the magic word
Of the seer who was my lord—
Nevermore!
Now may wander anywhere
All about the enchanted Isle.
But no more the master's smile
Greets me as his door I pass;
I shall hear no more, alas!
Hear no more the magic word
Of the seer who was my lord—
Nevermore!
Nevermore my flying feet
Bring him music strange and sweet,
Run for him upon the wind,
While the cloven air behind
Meets with roar and thunder-crack
In the lightning of my track—
Nevermore!
Bring him music strange and sweet,
Run for him upon the wind,
While the cloven air behind
Meets with roar and thunder-crack
7
Nevermore!
Enter Caliban, listening.
Caliban.
This might be one of them. Full oft I hear
Their music in the air. And yet he lies,
And is a devil of Prospero's, for he hints
That Prosper 's gone: and yet I heard his voice.
And yet that voice might be a mimicry.
Good Moon, assist me. Tell me, friendly Moon,
Is Prospero gone? Tell me, good Man i' the Moon,
He will not pinch me again.
Ariel.
Nay, doubt not, friend.
He 's gone.
Caliban.
Now Setebos preserve my bones!
What voice art thou? For nothing can I see
But stars, and moonlight twinklings in the woods,
And black broad shadows of the trembling trees,
And here and there a fluttering zigzag bat.
Ariel.
I hover in the moonbeam overhead.
Caliban.
I think I've heard thee sing and talk before.
Did Prosper leave thee here to govern us,
8
And lying songs? And yet how sweet thou singest!
Come, show thyself—I think thou'rt not a fiend.
Ariel.
I'll show myself anon. But do not fear.
Prosper is gone. A lonely spirit am I
Seeking companionship. I'd talk with thee.
Caliban.
Good—an' thou talkest sense, and wilt not bite
Or hunt me—nor dost bid me bring thee logs.
Ariel.
I have no need of fuel, nor of food
Nor dwelling, nay, not even of bodily shape.
Yet I can take a shape if so I choose.
Caliban.
Then prythee do. I fain would see thee, friend.
I like it not, this talking to the air.
Ariel.
I'll humor thee if I can be thy friend.
What shape shall I assume?
Caliban.
Why, any shape
But Prospero's—and I'll shake thee by the hand,
9
I have sat cracking nuts with—in my dreams—
For wide awake I ne'er encountered such.
Nay, this seems like a dream. Perchance it is—
And I asleep, and babbling in my sleep—
And Prospero still lord of all the Isle.
Ariel.
Nay, all is real. I tell thee he has gone.
Follow me now to yonder cave, where laps
The sleepy sea upon the pebbled shore,
Smoothing the flickering wrinkles of the moon,
Who steeps her golden column in the brine.
There will I meet thee in a human garb.
Caliban.
Where'er you please, so I but see your face.
You are no Jack-o'-lantern, I believe.
I know thee not, but something tells me true
That I may trust thee. Sing then. I will follow.
[Exeunt, Ariel singing.
Song.
Follow, follow,
Down the deep hollow—
Down to the moonlit waves,
Down where the ocean caves
The full tides swallow.
Follow, follow!
Down the deep hollow—
Down to the moonlit waves,
Down where the ocean caves
The full tides swallow.
Follow, follow!
10
From the curse, from the blight,
From the thraldom of night,
From the dark to the light,
From the slave to the man
We will lift Caliban.
Farewell, Hecate! Rise, Apollo!
Follow, follow, follow!
From the thraldom of night,
From the dark to the light,
From the slave to the man
We will lift Caliban.
Farewell, Hecate! Rise, Apollo!
Follow, follow, follow!
| Ariel and Caliban with other poems | |