Yet what he really knows he cannot use.
But with such melancholy thoughts as these
To taint this bliss-bestowing hour, oh! shun;
See how yon low-roof'd, green-girt cottages
Gleam in the splendour of the setting sun!
He bends and sinks, the day hath lived-is o'er,
Yet other life is quicken'd by his ray,-
Oh! that no wing is mine, wherewith to soar,
And struggle ever after him, away!
Bathed in eternal sunshine, I should greet
A stilly world in silence at my feet;
Each gentle valley steep'd in soft repose,
Each mountain summit tinged with glowing beams,
Each silver brook, that sparkles as it flows,
And spreads resplendent into golden streams.
The dark defiles, the rugged mountain ways,
Would not impede me in my godlike flight;
E'en now, the Ocean and its heated bays
Appear to rise on my enraptured sight.
Slow seems the God of Light to sink away,
Yet still the newly-waken'd feelings play,-
I hurry on, free, unconfined,
To drink the eternal light he sheds,-
The darkening Night I leave behind,
While far before me Daylight spreads;
The glorious skies above me glow,
While Ocean heaves her waves below;
A beauteous dream! but, ah! 'tis flown,
And while 'tis passing-He is gone!
Alas! no fleshly pinion e'er
Can mate the spirit's wing'd career!
Yet 'tis our being's inborn tone
To strive for ever up and on;
When, lost in the expanse of light,
The lark above us trills her lay;
When o'er the rugged pine-clad height,
The outspread eagle soars away;
When, struggling on, the crane doth roam
O'er marsh and sea towards her home!
Wag. I've often had strange fancies in my mind,
But never felt an impulse of the kind;
Of wood and field, of dale and hill,
One very quickly looks one's fill.
The wings of any bird, by me
Will never greatly envied be.
How differently do mental pleasures
Lead us from book to book to roam;
And ever with these ancient treasures,
How cheerful winter nights become !
A happy life glows warm in every limb,
And if a precious parchment you unroll,
Your senses in delight appear to swim,
And heaven itself descends upon your soul. Faust. One impulse only, is in you imprest, Acquaint not with the other, then, your heart; Two souls, alas! are dwelling in my breast,
One from the other striving still to part. The one clings fast to all that this life prizes, With organs, strong as iron cramps may be, The other from this darkness proudly rises, To regions of a glorious ancestry.
Oh! if there now be spirits hovering near,
Ruling with power 'twixt the heavens and earth, Descend ye from your golden atmosphere
And lead me where new, varied life has birth! Yes! were a magic mantle but mine own,
To bear me far away to stranger lands,
Not for the costliest robe that ever shone
Around a monarch-should it leave my hands!
Wag. Invoke not thou the well-known band,
Diffused throughout the atmosphere,
Which, thousand-form'd, on every hand,
To man, threats danger ever near.
If from the north the spirits come,
Sharp-fang'd, and arrowy-tongued they roam;
If from the east-dry, parching,-they
Upon your lungs consuming prey;
If from the southern desert's sand
Their scorching wings they round you spread,
They form a fiercely-wasting band,
That heap up fire on your head;
The genial west, alone can bring
Those that refreshen like the spring,-
Yet floods of waters calling down,
Fields, meadows, and yourself they drown.
Of listening fond, on mischief bent,
With pleasure they our hests receive
Because their pleasure's to deceive;
Pretending they from heaven are sent,
They claim a kindred with the sky
Lisping like angels as they lie.
But let us go! The earth is grey,
The air is cold, the mists arise,
It is at eve alone we may
Our home's true worth and value prize.
Why stand'st thou thus with wondering view?
What through the twilight draws thine
Faust. See'st thou yon black dog, ranging through
The corn and stubble here hard by ?
Wag. Yes! but yet nothing in him strange I see. Faust. Mark him! what should you take the brute to be?
Wag. Why, for some poodle, in his usual way,
Seeking what path his master's steps may stray.
Faust. Dost mark the circling curves he makes,
Still as he runs approaching nigher ?
And see! unless mine eye mistakes,
He leaves behind a track of fire!
Wag. That must be some illusion, I believe, For only a black dog can I perceive.
Faust. He now appears to me to trace
Light magic toils around our feet.
Wag. He bounds with hesitating pace,
Because he doth two strangers meet.
Faust. The circle narrows-he's already near.
Wag. Thou see'st, a dog and not a sprite is here!
—on his belly lays,
Just like all other dogs in all his ways.
Faust. Here! hither! join our company!
Wag. Some foolish poodle it must be ;
If thou stand'st still, he waits and watches on thee ;
Shouldst thou speak to him, he will jump upon thee;
Lose aught, and to thy feet he will it bring,
Or for thy stick into the water spring.
Faust. 'Tis true-no traces of a sprite I see,
And all must the result of training be.
Wag. A dog that has, with skill and care,
Been well brought up, and duly train'd
May e'en a wise man's kindness share,
And be with favour entertain'd.
And this—your clever scholar,—you will see
Will well deserving your affection be.
[They go into the gate of the town.
FAUST enters with the Poodle.
Faust. With deepest night above them spread I have forsaken field and plain; With holy awe and prescient dread Now wakes our better soul again! In slumber lies each passion wild, Calm sleeps each ruthless deed of ill, But love to every earthly child,
The love of God is moving still!
Be quiet, poodle! run not here and there!
Why at the threshold dost thou snuff the air?
Lie down behind the stove and peaceful be—
There! my best cushion do I give to thee:
As thou without, upon the mountain way,
Pleasedst us with running-with thy frolic play,
So now from me in turn receive my care,
But as a quiet guest my kindness share.
Ah! when within our narrow cell,
The lamp again so clearly burns,
The bosom is illumined well,
Its knowledge to the heart returns;
Reason her voice resumes again,
With blossoms hope once more is rife,
And we with longing glow to drain
The streams—the very founts of life. Growl not such brutal sounds but ill agree
With the blest tones now all possessing me;
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