We were conscious of something lovelier than we saw; a world not to be discerned by sight, but real and unspeakably beautiful to the soul.

Even to Caliban the isle was "full of noises;" "sounds and sweet airs that give delight" did not escape his brutish sense.

Sometimes "a thousand twangling instruments" hummed about his ears; sometimes voices whose soft music was akin to sleep floated about him; and sometimes the clouds "would open and show riches ready to drop upon" him.

There was a sweet enchantment in the air to which the dullest could not be indifferent.

It hovered over us like some finer beauty, just beyond the vision of sense, and yet as real, almost as tangible, as the things we touched and saw.
Alone as we were upon the little island, we felt the diviner world of which that tiny bit of earth was part; we knew the higher beauty of which all that visible loveliness was but a sign and symbol.