intimates his instinctive dread of the cold by threatening to make him “howl away twelve Winters.”  And the chief joy of his promised release from service is, that he will then be free to live all the year through under the soft rule of Summer, with its flowers and fragrances and melodies.  He is indeed an arrant little epicure of perfume and sweet sounds, and gives forth several songs which “seem to sound in the air, and as if the person playing them were invisible.”

A part of Ariel’s unique texture is well shown in the scene where he relents at the sufferings of the shipwrecked lords, and remonstrates with his master in their behalf: 

“Ariel.  The King, His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted; And the remainder mourning over them, Brimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly He that you term’d the good old lord, Gonzalo:  His tears run down his beard, like Winter’s drops From eaves of reeds:  your charm so strongly works ’em.  That, if you now beheld them, your affections Would become tender.

    Pros.  Dost thou think so, spirit?

    Ariel.  Mine would, sir, were I human.”

Another mark-worthy feature of Ariel is, that his power does not stop with the physical forces of Nature, but reaches also to the hearts and consciences of men; so that by his music he can kindle or assuage the deepest griefs of the one, and strike the keenest pangs of remorse into the other.  This comes out in the different effects of his art upon Ferdinand and the guilty King, as related by the men themselves: 

    “Where should this music be? i’ the air or th’ earth? 
    It sounds no more:—­and, sure, it waits upon
    Some god o’ the island.  Sitting on a bank,
    Weeping again the King my father’s wreck,
    This music crept by me upon the waters,
    Allaying both their fury and my passion
    With its sweet air:  thence I have follow’d it,
    Or it hath drawn me rather:—­but it is gone. 
    No, it begins again.”

Such is the effect on Ferdinand:  now mark the contrast when we come to the King: 

                 “O, it is monstrous, monstrous! 
    Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it;
    The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder,
    That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc’d
    The name of Prosper:  it did bass my trespass. 
    Therefore my son i’ the ooze is bedded; and
    I’ll seek him deeper than e’er plummet sounded,
    And with him there lie mudded.”

In the planting of love, too, Ariel beats old god Cupid all to nothing.  For it is through some witchcraft of his that Ferdinand and Miranda are surprised into a mutual rapture; so that Prospero notes at once how “at the first sight they have chang’d eyes,” and “are both in either’s power.”  All which is indeed just what Prospero wanted; yet he is himself fairly startled at the result:  that fine issue of nature outruns his thought; and the wise old gentleman takes care forthwith lest it work too fast: