If your permission will but let

Me guide him gently as I choose.

The Lord. While yet his days on earth may be, So long 'tis not forbidden thee !

For man, until his strife is done,

To error link'd, must struggle on.

Meph. My thanks for that! I never sped
With any pleasure with the dead;
With fresh, full cheeks I like to roam,
But with a corpse I'm not at home!
In this respect it fares with me

As with the cat and mouse we see !

The Lord. Cease. 'Tis permitted. Turn aside This spirit from its first pure source, And shouldst thou gain him-bear and guide Him onward with thee in thy course. But stand abash'd-a mark for scorn, When thou shalt be compell'd to say, A good man with dark strivings torn, Doth yet perceive the better way.

Meph. True! but not long it lasteth-nor do I Feel for my wager much anxiety!

And if I should attain my end-then you

Permit my full-voiced triumph; I will make

Him eat of dust-and with a relish too,

As once my relative renown'd—the snake ! The Lord. Then even thou mayst freely here Before my presence reappear!

Those who, in mind, are kindred unto thee

Have never yet a hatred moved in me ;
Know that, of all the spirits that deny,
The jesting scoffer is the least offending,
Too prone to sleep is man's activity,

To unconditional repose soon bending;

I like to give him then, a mate

Who ever action is pursuing,

Who stirs and works, and, all elate,

Must, though as devil, still be doing.
But ye, true sons of heaven, calm, sublime,
Rejoice in beauty, shed around, above,

The soul that works and lives throughout all time
Embrace you in the happy bonds of love,-
What hovers o'er, in changeful seeming wrought

Do you fix firm with everlasting thought!

[Heaven closes; the Archangels disperse. Meph. [solus.] I like, at times, the Ancient One to see, And guard 'gainst breaking with him-'tis so civil

In one so mighty so polite to be,

So kindly speaking with the

very

devil!

с

FAUST.

A Tragedy.

NIGHT.-A NARROW HIGH-VAULTED GOTHIC CHAMBER.
FAUST is seated restlessly at his desk.

Faust. АH! yes, now by the ardent toil of years,
I'm fully versed in all philosophy,

I know whatever Law or Med'cine bears,

And also-to my grief-Theology;

Yet here I stand, poor fool, with nothing more
Of wisdom's treasures than I had before;

I'm Master styled, and Doctor too,

And here ten years their course have sped,

Since up and down, and to and fro,
My scholars by the nose I've led !

And seeing all too clearly now,

For all our toil, our broken rest, That we can nothing, nothing know,

Burns up the heart within my breast.

True! I am wiser far than all the tribes

Of solemn triflers, doctors, priests, and scribes!
Nor doubts nor scruples now my soul assail,

Before no fear of hell or devil I quail;

But for that reason, I with sorrow see

All joy for ever torn away from me!
Myself no more I flatter with the thought
One thing worth knowing I have gain'd or sought,
No more I think that I can teach or find
Aught that can better or convert mankind!
Then, I have neither goods nor gold,
To me no honour men will give,
No rank amid the world I hold,
No dog like this would longer live !
Therefore have I, each day and hour,
To magic lent myself alone,
To see if by the Spirits' power,

All mysteries may not be known;
That I no more be forced to prate

Of things of which I nothing know,
While shame and loathing bring the sweat
Of bitterness upon my brow;

That I may know what holds the earth
Together in its inmost sphere,
See whence production has its birth,
See all the germs of life appear;
My soul is sick and weary grown
Of trafficking with words alone!

Oh! radiant moonlight! would thy beam
Shed on me now its latest gleam;
For the last time that thou didst see
My loneliness and misery!

Oh! thou, for whose soft, gentle light
I've sat and watch'd so many a night;
O'er books and papers scatter'd near,
Then, pensive friend, didst thou appear!