And Death his ghastly work pursued,
The better for the hellish brewst we brewed.
Myself to thousands the curst juice supplied;
They pined away, and I must live to hear
The praise of mercy in the murderer’s ear.
Wagner.
How can you with such whims be grieved?
Surely a good man does his part
With scrupulous care to use the art
Which from his father he received.
When we, in youth, place on our sire reliance,
He opes to us his stores of information;
When we, as men, extend the bounds of science,
Our sons build higher upon our foundation.
Faust.
O happy he who yet hath hope to float
Above this sea of crude distempered thought!
What we know not is what we need to know,
And what we know, we might as well let go;
But cease; cheat not the moment of its right
By curious care and envious repining;
Behold how fair, in evening’s mellow light,
The green-embosomed cottages are shining.
The sun slants down, the day hath lived his date,
But on he hies to tend another sphere.
O that no wing upon my wish may wait
To follow still and still in his career!
Upborne on evening’s quenchless beams to greet
The noiseless world illumined at my feet,
Each peaceful vale, each crimson-flaming peak,
Each silver rill whose tinkling waters seek
The golden flood that feeds the fruitful plain.
Then savage crags, and gorges dark, would rein
My proud careering course in vain;
Ev’n now the sea spreads out its shimmering bays,
And charms the sense with ecstasy of gaze.
Yet seems the god at length to sink;
But, borne by this new impulse of my mind,
I hasten on, his quenchless ray to drink,
The day before me, and the night behind,
The heavens above me, under me the sea.
A lovely dream! meanwhile the god is gone.
Alas! the soul, in wingèd fancy free,
Seeks for a corporal wing, and findeth none.
Yet in each breast ’tis deeply graven,
Upward and onward still to pant,
When over us, lost in the blue of heaven,
Her quavering song the lark doth chaunt;
When over piny peaks sublime
The eagle soars with easy strain,
And over lands and seas the crane
Steers homeward to a sunnier clime.
Wagner.
I too have had my hours of whim,
But feeling here runs over reason’s brim.
Forest and field soon tire the eye to scan,
And eagle’s wings were never made for man.
How otherwise the mind and its delights!
From book to book, from page to page, we go.
Thus sweeten we the dreary winter nights,
Till every limb with new life is aglow;
And chance we but unroll some rare old parchment scroll,
All heaven stoops down, and finds a lodgment in the soul.
Faust.
Thou know’st but the one impulse—it is well!
Tempt not the yearning that divides the heart.
Two souls, alas! within my bosom dwell!
This strives from that with adverse strain to part.
The one, bound fast by stubborn might of love,
To this low earth with grappling organs clings;
The other spurns the clod, and soars on wings
To join a nobler ancestry above.
Oh! be there spirits in the air,
’Twixt earth and heaven that float with potent sway,
Drop from your sphere of golden-glowing day,
And waft me hence new varied life to share!
Might I but own a mantle’s fold enchanted,
To climes remote to bear me on its wing,
More than the costliest raiment I should vaunt it,
More than the purple robe that clothes a king.
Wagner.
Invoke not rash the well-known spirit-throng,
That stream unseen the atmosphere along,
And dangers thousandfold prepare,
Weak men from every quarter to ensnare.
From the keen north in troops they float,
With sharpest teeth and arrow-pointed tongues;
From the harsh east they bring a blasting drought,
And feed with wasting greed upon thy lungs.
When from the arid south their sultry powers
They send, hot fires upheaping on thy crown,
The West brings forth his swarms with cooling showers,
To end in floods that sweep thy harvests down.
Quick-ear’d are they, on wanton mischief bent,
And work our will with surer bait to ply us;
They show as fair as heaven’s own couriers sent,
And lisp like angels when they most belie us.
But let us hence! the air is chill,
The cold grey mists are creeping down the hill,
Now is the time to seek the bright fireside.
Why standest thou with strange eyes opened wide?
What twilight-spectre may thy fancy trouble?
Faust.
See’st thou that swarthy dog sweeping through corn and stubble?
Wagner.
I saw him long ago—not strange he seemed to me.
Faust.
Look at him well—what should the creature be?
Wagner.
He seems a poodle who employs his snout
Now here, now there, to snuff his master out.
Faust.
Dost thou not see how nigher still and nigher
His spiral circles round us wind?
And, err I not, he leaves behind
His track a train of sparkling fire.
Wagner.
A small black poodle is all I see;
Surely some strange delusion blinds thee!
Faust.
Methinks soft magic circles winds he,
About, about, a snare for thee and me.
Wagner.
I see him only doubtful springing round,
Having two strangers for his master found.
Faust.
He draws him closer—now he comes quite near!
Wagner.
A dog, be sure, and not a ghost, is here.
He growls, and looks about in fear,
And crouches down, and looks to you,
And wags his tail—what any dog will do.
Faust.
Come hither, poodle!
Wagner.
’Tis a drollish brute;
When you stand still, then stands he mute,
But when you speak, he springs as he would speak to you;
He will bring back what you let fall,
And fetch your stick out of the water.
Faust.
You are quite right. There’s no such matter.
No trace of ghost—a dog well trained, that’s all!
Wagner.
A well-trained dog may well engage
The favour of a man most sage;
This poodle well deserves your recognition;
Few students learn so much from good tuition.
[Exeunt, going in through the gate of the city.
Faust’sStudy.
Faust.[entering with thePoodle.]
Now field and meadow lie behind me,
Hushed ’neath the veil of deepest night,
And thoughts of solemn seeming find me,
Too holy for the garish light.
Calm now the blood that wildly ran,
Asleep the hand of lawless strife;
Now wakes to life the love of man,
The love of God now wakes to life.
Cease, poodle! why snuff’st and snifflest thou so,
Running restless to and fro?
Behind the stove there lie at rest,
And take for bed my cushion the best!
And as without, on our mountain-ramble,
We joyed to see thy freakish gambol,
So here, my hospitable care,
A quiet guest, and welcome share.
When in our narrow cell confined,
The friendly lamp begins to burn,
Then clearer sees the thoughtful mind,
With searching looks that inward turn.
Bright Hope again within us beams,
And Reason’s voice again is strong,
We thirst for life’s untroubled streams,
For the pure fount of life we long.
Quiet thee, poodle! it seems not well
To break, with thy growling, the holy spell
Of my soul’s music, that refuses
All fellowship with bestial uses.
Full well we know that the human brood,
What they don’t understand condemn,
And murmur in their peevish mood
At things too fair and good for them;
Belike the cur, as curs are they,
Thus growls and snarls his bliss away.
But, alas! already I feel it well,
No more may peace within this bosom dwell.
Why must the stream so soon dry up,
And I lie panting for the cup
That mocks my lips? so often why
Drink pleasure’s shallow fount, when scarce yet tasted, dry?
Yet is this evil not without remeid;
We long for heavenly food to feed
Our heaven-born spirit, and the heart, now bent
On things divine, to revelation turns,
Which nowhere worthier or purer burns,
Than here in our New Testament.
I feel strange impulse in my soul
The sacred volume to unroll,
With honest purpose, once for all,
The holy Greek Original
Into my honest German to translate.
[He opens the Bible and reads.]
“In the beginning was theWord:” thus here
The text stands written; but no clear
Meaning shines here for me, and I must wait,
A beggar at dark mystery’s gate,
Lamed in the start of my career.
The naked word I dare not prize so high,
I must translate it differently,
If by the Spirit I am rightly taught.
“In the beginning of all things wasThought.”
The first line let me ponder well,
Lest my pen outstrip my sense;
Is it Thought wherein doth dwell
All-creative omnipotence?
I change the phrase, and write—the course
Of the great stream of things was shaped byForce.
But even here, before I lift my pen,
A voice of warning bids me try again.
At length, at length, the Spirit helps my need,
I write—“In the beginning was theDeed.”
Wilt thou keep thy dainty berth,
Poodle, use a gentler mirth,
Cease thy whimpering and howling,
And keep for other place thy growling.
Such a noisy inmate may
Not my studious leisure cumber;
You or I, without delay,
Restless cur, must leave the chamber!
Not willingly from thee I take
The right of hospitality.
But if thou wilt my quiet break,
Seek other quarters—thou hast exit free.
But what must I see?
What vision strange
Beyond the powers
Of Nature’s range?
Am I awake, or bound with a spell?
How wondrously the brute doth swell!
Long and broad
Uprises he,
In a form that no form
Of a dog may be!
What spectre brought I into the house?
He stands already, with glaring eyes,
And teeth in grinning ranks that rise,
Large as a hippopotamus!
O! I have thee now!
For such half-brood of hell as thou
The key of Solomon the wise
Is surest spell to exorcise.[n3]
Spirits.[in the passage without]
Brother spirits, have a care!
One within is prisoned there!
Follow him none!—for he doth quail
Like a fox, trap-caught by the tail.
But let us watch!
Hover here, hover there,
Up and down amid the air;
For soon this sly old lynx of hell
Will tear him free, and all be well.
If we can by foul or fair,
We will free him from the snare,
And repay good service thus,
Done by him oft-times for us.
Faust.
First let the charm of the elements four
The nature of the brute explore.
Let the Salamander glow,
Undene twine her crested wave,
Silphe into ether flow,
And Kobold vex him, drudging slave![n4]
Whoso knows not
The elements four,
Their quality,
And hidden power,
In the magic art
Hath he no part.
Spiring in flames glow
Salamander!
Rushing in waves flow
Undene!
Shine forth in meteor-beauty
Silphe!
Work thy domestic duty
Incubus Incubus!
Step forth and finish the spell.
None of the four
In the brute doth dwell.
It lies quite still with elfish grinning there.
It shall know a stronger charm,
It shall shrink from sharper harm,
When by a mightier name I swear.
Art thou a fugitive
Urchin of hell?
So yield thee at length
To this holiest spell!
Bend thee this sacred
Emblem before,
Which the powers of darkness
Trembling adore.[n5]
Already swells he up with bristling hair.
Can’st thou read it,
The holy sign,
Reprobate spirit,
The emblem divine?
The unbegotten,
Whom none can name,
Moving and moulding
The wide world’s frame,
Yet nailed to the cross
With a death of shame.
Now behind the stove he lies,
And swells him up to an elephant’s size,
And fills up all the space.
He’ll melt into a cloud; not so!
Down, I say, down, proud imp, and know
Here, at thy master’s feet, thy place!
In vain, in vain, thou seek’st to turn thee,
With an holy flame I burn thee!
Wait not the charm
Of the triple-glowing light!
Beware the harm
If thou invite
Upon thy head my spell of strongest might!
[The clouds vanish, andMephistophelescomes forward from behind the fireplace, dressed like an itinerant scholar.
FaustandMephistopheles.
Mephistopheles.
What’s all the noise about? I’m here at leisure
To work your worship’s will and pleasure.
Faust.
So, so! such kernel cracked from such a shell!
A travelling scholar! the jest likes me well!
Mephistopheles.
I greet the learned gentleman!
I’ve got a proper sweating ’neath your ban.
Faust.
What is thy name?
Mephistopheles.
What is my power were better,
From one who so despises the mere letter,
Who piercing through the coarse material shell,
With Being’s inmost substance loves to dwell.
Faust.
Yes, but you gentlemen proclaim
Your nature mostly in your name;
Destroyer, God of Flies, the Adversary,[1]
Such names their own interpretation carry.
But say, who art thou?
Mephistopheles.
I am a part of that primordial Might,
Which always wills the wrong, and always works the right.
Faust.
You speak in riddles; the interpretation?
Mephistopheles.
I am the Spirit of Negation:
And justly so; for all that is created
Deserves to be annihilated.
’Twere better, thus, that there were no creation.
Thus everything that you call evil,
Destruction, ruin, death, the devil,
Is my pure element and sphere.
Faust.
Thou nam’st thyself a part, yet standest wholly here.
Mephistopheles.
I speak to thee the truth exact,
The plain, unvarnished, naked fact,
Though man, that microcosm of folly deems
Himself the compact whole he seems.
Part of the part I am that erst was all,
Part of the darkness, from whose primal pall
Was born the light, the proud rebellious Light,
Which now disputeth with its mother Night,
Her rank and room i’ the world by ancient right.
Yet vainly; though it strain and struggle much,
’Tis bound to body with the closer clutch;
From body it streams, on body paints a hue,
And body bends it from its course direct;
Thus in due season I expect,
When bodies perish, Light will perish too.
Faust.
Hold! now I know thy worthy duties all!
Unable to annihilate wholesale,
Thy mischief now thou workest by retail.
Mephistopheles.
And even thus, my progress is but small.
This something, the big lumpish world, which stands
Opposed to nothing, still ties my hands,
And spite of all the ground that I seem winning,
Remains as firm as in the beginning;
With storms and tempests, earthquakes and burnings,
Earth still enjoys its evenings and mornings,
And the accursèd fry of brute and human clay,
On them my noblest skill seems worse than thrown away.
How many thousands have I not buried!
Yet still a new fresh blood is hurried
Through fresh young veins, that I must sheer despair.
The earth, the water, and the air,
The moist, the dry, the hot, the cold,
A thousand germs of life unfold;
And had I not of flame made reservation,
I had no portion left in the creation.
Faust.
And thus thou seekest to oppose
The genial power, from which all life and motion flows,
Against Existence’ universal chain,
Clenching thy icy devil’s fist in vain!
Try some more profitable feats,
Strange son of Chaos, full of cross conceits.
Mephistopheles.
The hint is good, and on occasion,
May well deserve consideration;
Meanwhile, with your good leave, I would withdraw.
Faust.
My leave! do I make devil’s law?
The liberty, methinks, is all your own.
I see you here to-day with pleasure,
Go now, and come back at your leisure.
Here is the door, there is the window, and
A chimney, if you choose it, is at hand.
Mephistopheles.
Let me speak plain! there is a small affair,
That, without your assistance, bars my way,
The goblin-foot upon the threshold there—
Faust.
The pentagram stands in your way![n6]
Ha! tell me then, thou imp of sin,
If this be such a potent spell
To bar thy going out, how cam’st thou in?
What could have cheated such a son of hell?
Mephistopheles.
Look at it well, the drawing is not true;
One angle, that towards the door, you see,
Left a small opening for me.
Faust.
So so! for once dame Fortune has been kind,
And I have made a prisoner of you!
Chance is not always blind.
Mephistopheles.
The cur sprang in before it looked about;
But now the thing puts on a serious air;
The devil is in the house and can’t get out.
Faust.
You have the window, why not jump out there?
Mephistopheles.
It is a law which binds all ghosts and sprites;
Wherever they creep in, there too they must creep out;
I came in at the door, by the door I must go out.
Faust.
So so! then hell too has its laws and rights,
Thus might one profit by the powers of evil,
And make an honest bargain with the devil.
Mephistopheles.
The devil, sir, makes no undue exaction,
And pays what he has promised to a fraction;
But this affair requires consideration,
We’ll leave it for some future conversation.
For this time, I beseech your grace,
Let me be gone; I’ve work to do.
Faust.
Stay but one minute, I’ve scarce seen your face.
Speak; you should know the newest of the new.
Mephistopheles.
I’ll answer thee at length some other day;
At present, I beseech thee, let me loose.
Faust.
I laid no trap to snare thee in the way,
Thyself didst thrust thy head into the noose;
Whoso hath caught the devil, hold him fast!
Such lucky chance returns not soon again.
Mephistopheles.
If ’tis your pleasure so, I will remain,
But on condition that the time be passed
In worthy wise, and you consent to see
Some cunning sleights of spirit-craft from me.
Faust.
Thy fancy jumps with mine. Thou may’st commence,
So that thy dainty tricks but please the sense.
Mephistopheles.
Thou shalt, in this one hour, my friend,
More for thy noblest senses gain,
Than in the year’s dull formal train,
From stale beginning to stale end.
The songs the gentle Spirits sing thee,
The lovely visions that they bring thee,
Are not an empty juggling show.
On thine ear sweet sounds shall fall,
Odorous breezes round thee blow,
Taste, and touch, and senses all
With delicious tingling glow.
No lengthened prelude need we here,
Sing, Spirit-imps that hover near!
Spirits.
Vanish ye murky
Old arches away!
Through the cloud curtain
That blinds heaven’s ray
Mild and serenely
Look forth the queenly
Eye of the day!
Star now and starlet
Beam more benign,
And purer suns now
Softlier shine.
In beauty ethereal,
A swift-moving throng,
Of spirits aërial,
Are waving along,
And the soul follows
On wings of desire;
The fluttering garlands
That deck their attire,
Cover the meadows,
Cover the bowers,
Where lovers with lovers
Breathe rapturous hours.
Bower on bower!
The shoots of the vine,
With the leaves of the fig-tree,
Their tendrils entwine!
Clusters of ripe grapes,
Bright-blushing all,
Into the wine-press
Heavily fall;
From fountains divine
Bright rivers of wine
Come foaming and swirling;
O’er gems of the purest,
Sparkling and purling,
They flow and they broaden
In bright vista seen,
To deep-bosomed lakes
Lightly fringed with the green,
Where leafy woods nod
In their tremulous sheen.
On light-oaring pinions
The birds cut the gale,
Through the breezy dominions
As sunward they sail;
They sail on swift wings
To the isles of the blest,
On the soft swelling waves
That are cradled to rest;
Where we hear the glad spirits
In jubilee sing,
As o’er the green meadows
Fleet-bounding they spring:
With light airy footing,
A numberless throng,
Like meteors shooting
The mountains along;
Some there are flinging
Their breasts to the seas,
Others are swinging
In undulant ease,
Lovingly twining
Life’s tissue divine,
Where pure stars are shining
In beauty benign!
Mephistopheles.
He sleeps! well done, ye airy urchins! I
Remain your debtor for this lullaby,
By which so bravely ye have sung asleep
This restless spirit, who, with all his wit,
Is not yet quite the man with cunning cast,
To hook the devil and hold him fast.
Around him let your shapes fantastic flit,
And in a sea of dreams his senses steep.
But now this threshold’s charm to disenchant,
The tooth of a rat is all I want;
Nor need I make a lengthened conjuration,
I hear one scraping there in preparation.
The lord of the rats and of the mice,
Of the flies, and frogs, and bugs, and lice,
Commands you with your teeth’s good saw,
The threshold of this door to gnaw!
Forth come, and there begin to file,
Where he lets fall this drop of oil.
Ha! there he jumps! that angle there,
With thy sharp teeth I bid thee tear,
Which jutting forward, sad disaster,
Unwilling prisoner keeps thy master.
Briskly let the work go on,
One bite more and it is done! [Exit.
Faust.[awakening from his trance]
Once more the juggler Pleasure cheats my lip,
Gone the bright spirit-dream, and left no trace,
That I spake with the devil face to face,
And that a poodle dog gave me the slip!
Faust’sStudy as before.
Faust. Mephistopheles.
Faust.
Who’s there to break my peace once more? come in!
Mephistopheles.
’Tis I!
Faust.
Come in!
Mephistopheles.
Thou must repeat it thrice.
Faust.
Come in.
Mephistopheles.
Thus with good omen we begin;
I come to give you good advice,
And hope we’ll understand each other.
The idle fancies to expel,
That in your brain make such a pother,
At your service behold me here,
Of noble blood, a cavalier,
A gallant youth rigged out with grace,
In scarlet coat with golden lace,
A short silk mantle, and a bonnet,
With a gay cock’s feather on it,
And at my side a long sharp sword.
Now listen to a well-meant word;
Do thou the like, and follow me,
All unembarrassed thus and free,
To mingle in the busy scenes
Of life, and know what living means.
Faust.
Still must I suffer, clothe me as you may,
This narrow earthly life’s incumbrancy;
Too old I am to be content with play,
Too young from every longing to be free.
What can the world hold forth for me to gain?
Abstain, it saith, and still it saith, Abstain!
This is the burden of the song
That in our ears eternal rings,
Life’s dreary litany lean and long,
That each dull moment hoarsely sings.
With terror wake I in the morn from sleep,
And bitter tears might often weep,
To see the day, when its dull course is run,
That brings to fruit not one small wish,—not one!
That, with capricious criticising,
Each taste of joy within my bosom rising,
Ere it be born, destroys, and in my breast
Chokes every thought that gives existence zest,
With thousand soulless trifles of an hour.
And when the dark night-shadows lower,
I seek to ease my aching brain
Upon a weary couch in vain.
With throngs of feverish dreams possessed,
Even in the home of sleep I find no rest;
The god, that in my bosom dwells,
Can stir my being’s inmost wells;
But he who sways supreme our finer stuff,
Moves not the outward world, hard, obdurate, and tough.
Thus my existence is a load of woes,
Death my best friend, and life my worst of foes.
Mephistopheles.
And yet methinks this friend you call your best,
Is seldom, when he comes, a welcome guest.
Faust.
Oh! happy he to whom, in victory’s glance,
Death round his brow the bloody laurel winds!
Whom, ’mid the circling hurry of the dance,
Locked in a maiden’s close embrace he finds;
O! would to God that I had sunk that night
In tranceful death before the Spirit’s might!
Mephistopheles.
Yet, on a certain night, a certain man was slow
To drink a certain brown potation out.
Faust.
It seems ’tis your delight to play the scout.
Mephistopheles.
Omniscient am I not; but many things I know.
Faust.
If, in that moment’s wild confusion,
A well-known tone of blithesome youth
Had power, by memory’s dear delusion,
To cheat me with the guise of truth;
Then curse I all whate’er the soul
With luring juggleries entwines,
And in this gloomy dungeon-hole
With dazzling flatteries confines!
Curst be ’fore all the high opinion
The soul has of its own dominion!
Curst all the show of shallow seeming,
Through gates of sense fallacious streaming!
Curst be the hollow dreams of fame,
Of honour, glory, and a name!
Curst be the flattering goods of earth,
Wife, child, and servant, house and hearth!
Accursed be Mammon, when with treasures
To riskful venture he invites us,
Curst when, the slaves of passive pleasures,
On soft-spread cushions he delights us!
Curst be the balsam juice o’ the grape!
Accursed be love’s deceitful thrall!
Accursed be Hope! accursed be Faith!
Accursed be Patience above all!
Chorus of Spirits.[invisible]
Woe! woe!
Thou hast destroyed it!
The beautiful world,
With mightiest hand,
A demigod
In ruin has hurled!
We weep,
And bear its wrecked beauty away,
Whence it may never
Return to the day.
Mightiest one
Of the sons of earth,
Brightest one,
Build it again!
Proudly resurgent with lovelier birth
In thine own bosom build it again!
Life’s glad career
Anew commence
With insight clear,
And purgèd sense,
The while new songs around thee play,
To launch thee on more hopeful way!
Mephistopheles.
These are the tiny
Spirits that wait on me;
Hark how to pleasure
And action they counsel thee!
Into the world wide
Would they allure thee,
In solitude dull
No more to immure thee,
No more to sit moping
In mouldy mood,
With a film on thy sense,
And a frost in thy blood!
Cease then with thine own peevish whim to play,
That like a vulture makes thy life its prey.
Society, however low,
Still gives thee cause to feel and know
Thyself a man, amid thy fellow-men.
Yet my intent is not to pen
Thee up with the common herd! and though
I cannot boast, or rank, or birth
Of mighty men, the lords of earth,
Yet do I offer, at thy side,
Thy steps through mazy life to guide;
And, wilt thou join in this adventure,
I bind myself by strong indenture,
Here, on the spot, with thee to go.
Call me companion, comrade brave,
Or, if it better please thee so,
I am thy servant, am thy slave!
Faust.
And in return, say, what the fee
Thy faithful service claims from me?
Mephistopheles.
Of that you may consider when you list.
Faust.
No, no! the devil is an Egotist,
And seldom gratis sells his labour,
For love of God, to serve his neighbour.
Speak boldly out, no private clause conceal;
With such as you ’tis dangerous to deal.
Mephistopheles.
I bind myself to be thy servant here,
And wait with sleepless eyes upon thy pleasure,
If, when we meet again inyondersphere,
Thou wilt repay my service in like measure.
Faust.
Whatyonderis I little reck to know,
Provided I be happy here below;
The future world will soon enough arise,
When the present in ruin lies.
’Tis from this earth my stream of pleasure flows,
This sun it is that shines upon my woes;
And, were I once from this my home away,
Then happen freely what happen may.
Nor hope in me it moves, nor fear,
If then, as now, we hate and love;
Or if in yonder world, as here,
An under be, and an above.
Mephistopheles.
Well, in this humour, you bid fair
With hope of good result to dare.
Close with my plan, and you will see
Anon such pleasant tricks from me,
As never eyes of man did bliss
From father Adam’s time to this.
Faust.
Poor devil, what hast thou to give,
By which a human soul may live?
By thee or thine was never yet divined
The thought that stirs the deep heart of mankind!
True, thou hast food that sateth never,
And yellow gold that, restless ever,
Like quicksilver between the fingers,
Only to escape us, lingers;
A game where we are sure to lose our labour,
A maiden that, while hanging on my breast,
Flings looks of stolen dalliance on my neighbour;
And honour by which gods are blest,
That, like a meteor, vanishes in air.
Show me the fruit that rotsbefore’tis broken,
And trees that day by day their green repair!
Mephistopheles.
A word of mighty meaning thou hast spoken,
Yet such commission makes not me despair.
Believe me, friend, we only need to try it,
And we too may enjoy our morsel sweet in quiet.
Faust.
If ever on a couch of soft repose
My soul shall rock at ease,
If thou canst teach with sweet delusive shows
Myself myself to please,
If thou canst trick me with a toy
To say sincerely Ienjoy,
Then may my latest sand be run!
A wager on it!
Mephistopheles.
Done!
Faust.
And done, and done!
When to the moment I shall say,
Stay, thou art so lovely, stay!
Then with thy fetters bind me round,
Then perish I with cheerful glee!
Then may the knell of death resound,
Then from thy service art thou free!
The clock may stand,
And the falling hand
Mark the time no more for me!
Mephistopheles.
Consider well: in things like these
The devil’s memory is not apt to slip.
Faust.
That I know well; may’st keep thy heart at ease,
No random word hath wandered o’er my lip.
Slave I remain, or here, or there,
Thine, or another’s, I little care.
Mephistopheles.
My duty I’ll commence without delay,
When with the graduates you dine to-day.
One thing remains!—black upon white
A line or two, to make the bargain tight.
Faust.
A writing, pedant!—hast thou never found
A man whose word was better than his bond?
Is’t not enough that by my spoken word,
Of all I am and shall be thou art lord?
The world drives on, wild wave engulphing wave,
And shall a line bind me, if I would be a knave?
Yet ’tis a whim deep-graven in the heart,
And from such fancies who would gladly part?
Happy within whose honest breast concealed
There lives a faith, nor time nor chance can shake;
Yet still a parchment, written, stamped, and sealed,
A spectre is before which all must quake.
Commit but once thy word to the goose-feather,
Then must thou yield the sway to wax and leather.
Say, devil—paper, parchment, stone, or brass?
With me this coin or that will pass;
Style, or chisel, or pen shall it be?
Thou hast thy choice of all the three.
Mephistopheles.
What need of such a hasty flare
Of words about so paltry an affair?
Paper or parchment, any scrap will do,
Then write in blood your signature thereto.
Faust.
If this be all, there needs but small delay,
Such trifles shall not stand long in my way.
Mephistopheles.[while Faust is signing the paper]
Blood is a juice of most peculiar virtue.
Faust.
Only no fear that I shall e’er demur to
The bond as signed; my whole heart swears
Even to the letter that the parchment bears.
Too high hath soared my blown ambition;
I now take rank with thy condition;
The Mighty Spirit of All hath scorned me,
And Nature from her secrets spurned me:
My thread of thought is rent in twain,
All science I loathe with its wranglings vain.
In the depths of sensual joy, let us tame
Our glowing passion’s restless flame!