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MEPHISTOPHELES.

Thanks. And that is all I ask ; for willingly I never make acquaintance with the dead. The full fresh cheeks of youth are food for me, And if a corpse knocks, I am not at home. For I am like a cat-I like to play A little with the mouse before I eat it.

THE LORD.

Well, well, it is permitted thee. Draw thou
His spirit from its springs ; as thou find’st power,
Seize him and lead him on thy downward path ;
And stand ashamed when failure teaches thee
That a good man, even in his darkest longings,
Is well aware of the right way.

MEPHISTOPHELES.

Well and good. I am not in much doubt about my bet, And, if I lose, then 'tis your turn to crow; Enjoy your triumph then with a full breast. Ay; dust shall he devour, and that with pleasure,

old

paramour, the famous Snake.

Like my

THE LORD.

Pray come here when it suits you; for I never
Had much dislike for people of your sort.
And, among all the Spirits 'who rebelled,
The knave was ever the least tedious to me.

The active spirit of man soon sleeps, and soon
He seeks unbroken quiet ; therefore I
Have given him the Devil for a companion,
Who may provoke him to some sort of work,
And must create for ever.—But ye, pure
Children of God, enjoy eternal beauty ;-
Let that which ever operates and lives
Clasp you within the limits of its love ;
And seize with sweet and melancholy thoughts
The floating phantoms of its loveliness.

[Heaven closes; the Archangels exeunt.

MEPHISTOPHELES.

From time to time I visit the old fellow,
And I take care to keep on good terms with him.
Civil enough is this same God Almighty,
To talk so freely with the Devil himself.

SCENE.

MAY-DAY NIGHT.

I'he Hartz Mountain, a desolate Country.

Faust, MEPHISTOPHELES.

MEPHISTOPHELES.

Would

you

not like a broomstick ? As for me I wish I had a good stout ram to ride ; For we are still far from th' appointed place.

FAUST.

This knotted staff is help enough for me,
Whilst I feel fresh upon my legs. What good
Is there in making short a pleasant way?
To creep along the labyrinths of the vales,
And climb those rocks, where ever-babbling springs
Precipitate themselves in waterfalls,
In the true sport that seasons such a path.
Already Spring kindles the birchen spray,
And the hoar pines already feel her breath :
Shall she not work also within our limbs ?

MEPHISTOPHELES.

Nothing of such an influence do I feel.
My body is all wintry, and I wish
The flowers upon our path were frost and snow.
But

see, how melancholy rises now,
Dimly uplifting her belated beam,
The blank unwelcome round of the red moon,
And gives so bad a light, that every step
One stumbles 'gainst some crag. With your per-

mission I'll call an Ignis-fatuus to our aid : I see one yonder burning jollily. Halloo, my friend ! may I request that you Would favour us with your bright company? Why should you blaze away there to no purpose ? Pray be so good as light us up this way.

IGNIS-FATUUS.

With reverence be it spoken, I will try

To overcome the lightness of my nature;
Our course, you know, is generally zig-zag.

MEPHISTOPHELES.

Ha, ha! your worship thinks you have to deal
With men.

Go straight on in the Devil's name, Or I shall puff your flickering life out.

IGNIS-FATUUS.

Well,

I see you are the master of thc house ;
I will accommodate myself to you.
Only consider that to-night this mountain
Is all-enchanted, and if Jack-a-lantern [own,
Shows you

his way, though you should miss your You ought not to be too exact with him. Faust, MEPHISTOPHELES, and IGNIS-FATuus in alternate

Chorus.
The limits of the sphere of dream,

The bounds of true and false, are past.
Lead us on, thou wandering Gleam,

Lead us onward, far and fast,

To the wide, the desert waste.
But see, how swift advance and shift

Trees behind trees, row by row,
How, clift by clift, rocks bend and lift

Their frowning foreheads as we go.
The giant-snouted crags, ho ! ho !
How they snort, and how they blow !

Through the mossy sods and stones,

Stream and streamlet hurry down,
A rushing throng! A sound of song
Beneath the vault of Heaven is blown!
Sweet notes of love, the speaking tones
Of this bright day, sent down to say
That Paradise on Earth is known,
Resound around, beneath, above ;
All we hope and all we love
Finds a voice in this blithe strain,
Which wakens hill and wood and rill,
And vibrates far o'er field and vale,
And which Echo, like the tale
Of old times, repeats again.
To-whoo! to-whoo! near, nearer now
The sound of song, the rushing throng!
Are the screech, the lapwing, and the jay,
All awake as if 'twere day?
See, with long legs and belly wide,
A salamander in the brake!
Every root is like a snake,
And along the loose hill side,
With strange contortions through the night,
Curls, to seize or to affright;
And animated, strong,

and

many, They dart forth polypus-antennæ, To blister with their poison spume The wanderer. Through the dazzling gloom The many-coloured mice that thread The dewy turf beneath our tread, In troops each other's motions cross,

28

VOL. III.

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