This slave of music for the sake

Of him who is the slave of thee；

And teach it all the harmony

In which thou canst and only thou

Make the delighted spirit glow

Till joy denies itself again

And too intense is turn'd to pain.

For by permission and command

Of thine own Prince Ferdinand

Poor Ariel sends this silent token

Of more than ever can be spoken；

Your guardian^{1 spirit Ariel who}

From life to life must still pursue

Your happiness for thus alone

Can Ariel ever find his own.

From Prospero's enchanted^{2 cell}

As the mighty^{3 verses tell}

To the throne of Naples he

Lit you o'er the trackless sea

Flitting on your prow^{4 before}

Like a living meteor.

When you die the silent Moon

In her interlunar swoon

Is not sadder in her cell

Than deserted^{5 Ariel：}

When you live again on earth

Like an unseen Star of birth

Ariel guides you o'er the sea

Of life from your nativity：

Many changes have been run

Since Ferdinand and you begun

Your course of love and Ariel still

Has track'd your steps and served your will.

Now in humbler happier lot

This is all remember'd not；

And now alas^{6 the poor Sprite is}

Imprison'd for some fault of his

In a body like a grave

From you he only dares to crave⁷

For his service and his sorrow

A smile to-day a song to-morrow.

The artist who this viol wrought⁸

To echo all harmonious^{9 thought}

Fell'd a tree while on the steep

The woods were in their winter sleep

Rock'd in that repose^{10 pine}

On the wind-swept Apennine；

And dreaming some of autumn past

And some of spring approaching fast

And some of April buds and showers

And some of songs in July bowers¹¹

And all of love； and so this tree

Oh that such our death may be！

Died in sleep and felt no pain

To live in happier form again：

From which beneath heaven's fairest star

The artist wrought this loved guitar；

And taught it justly to reply

To all who question skilfully¹²

In language gentle as thine own；

Whispering in enamour'd tone

Sweet oracles^{13 of woods and dells}

And summer winds in sylvan^{14 cells.}

For it had learnt all harmonies

Of the plains and of the skies

Of the forests and the mountains

And the many-voicd fountains；

The clearest echoes of the hills

The softest notes of falling rills

The melodies of birds and bees

The murmuring of summer seas

And pattering rain and breathing dew

And airs of evening； and it knew

That seldom-heard mysterious sound

Which driven on its diurnal^{15 round}

As it floats through boundless^{16 day}

Our world enkindles on its way：

All this it knows but will not tell

To those who cannot question well

The spirit that inhabits it：

It talks according to the wit

Of its companions； and no more

Is heard than has been felt before

By those who tempt^{17 it to betray}

These secrets of an elder day.

But sweetly as its answers will

Flatter hands of perfect skill

It keeps its highest holiest tone

For one beloved Friend alone.