Poems (Hardy)/Ariel and Caliban
ARIEL AND CALIBAN
Caliban [to Ariel].LO, Ariel, now, I hunger; let me eat;I weary digging these dull rocks;And thou dost naught but fly and pleatThy wings,—braid in and out,—with fleecy locksOf yon bright cloud; I see not whereThou feedest, nor on what; to meThy hand is cruel that it has no careBecause I slave and starve, and yet must be.Lo, Ariel, now, give me to eat,And let me slumber in these sedges sweet.
Ariel [to Caliban] Eat, then, thou necessary thing,These nuts and berries from the hedge, but hasteThat so I need not stoop my wingBelow that cloud's gold edge, nor wasteThe evening star but for a clod like thee.Sleep, too, thou earth. Yet briefly, see! 'Tis loss that I must wait, while thou dost snore,To measure great Orion's jeweled brand;To weave into Homeric warp this island lore,The woof of life upon this wondrous shore;To say how many æons yet beforeThis circling panicle of worlds shall standIn apsis, glowing Alcyone between;Or make upon this earth a search so keenNo secret of the monad may escape unseen. [Ariel soliloguizes]. Feed? Who feeds but beasts? Who sleeps but clods?This dull machine of flesh and boneNeeds little save a scourge of rods,The mind of man is man alone. What good were that brute force to findAnd string in order on their threadThose beaded stars, and so unwindAnd hold one other secret yet unread?Were that brute force to seize on Space, and bindAnd match with Time that would not wed?To fix relations clear of mote and star?Or draw the limits, that, at widest, barThe soul's outgoing to the near and far?
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[To Caliban].Wilt wake? Wilt wake, thou earthen earth?Three hours are gone in sodden sleep!Take up thy pick-ax, dig for me a girthOf ditch about this rocky steep."And wherefore, then?" 'T were easiest to sayThat thou may'st eat, thou worm, and I forsooth may play;But 'tis that I may read with one sharp glanceCreation's tale writ out in rocky circumstance. Do but my bidding; groan and fretUnto thyself, and ache thy aches;What mercy have I—Ariel—that forgetFatigue and baffling, all that breaksSuch weakling things as, made of flesh,Cry out and groan, entangled in the mesh Of their own wants? Pure spirit made to beAm I, and hedgèd round by no necessity.What, slave! Drag not upon my floating hemThe weight of thy dull hand. Away! Thy heavy eyesHold down my wings. Thy faltering nerveKnits round me some quick-burning spell.Away, thou slave! For Ariel shall not swerve.Yet where is Ariel's power? I cannot stemThis flood of fire! I reel, I cannot rise.[Ariel swoons.]Caliban.Ha! ha! I crush thee, airy fool,Beneath the iron of a broken law!I was thy sledge, thy edgèd tool;Thy slave, with slavish form and slavish name,Thy slave that could not turn and drawHis clumsy weapon on a soul of flame?I was thy burden-beast that had no needTo sleep, or rest, or drink, or feed?Lo, now, who groans and aches? Who cannot rest?Who pines and starves because I will not eat?Who grovels on the earth and writhes, at worst and best?And shivers when the sun doth rise, and would entreatThe stars to set, they are so fiery-full of heat?Ha! ha! I suffer too! The jar-nuts pall,And flat and tasteless flows the freshet spring;And sleep doth never come to my loth eyes,That wide awake but stare into the staring skies.Unsteady is the voice that once could callThe jay's call back, and fool the gnawing thingThat hides ripe filberts in his grass-lined nest; But twice and thrice I care not when I turn to mould,Ground over by the dew-worm long o' dewy nights,So I but venge my slave-lot, cruel, cold;So I but keep him back from seeking what he would,With heaven-pointing wings, at dark or dawn,From seeking 'mong the greater and the lesser lights,For what delights him—that ethereal goodI know not, but, with hate-sword ever drawn,Will hew and hack against, until I die and turn to mould,Until I die and turn again to crumbled mould.