For other causes I forbore to soothe
Their fury to Favonian gentleness;
I could and would not: (thus I wake in him [Aside
A love of magic art.) Let not this tempest,
Nor the succeeding calm excite thy wonder;
For by my art the sun would turn as pale
As his weak sister with unwonted fear;
And in my wisdom are the orbs of Heaven
Written as in a record. I have pierced
The flaming circles of their wondrous spheres,
And know them as thou knowest every corner
Of this dim spot. Let it not seem to thee
That I boast vainly; wouldst thou that I work
A charm over this waste and savage wood,
This Babylon of crags and aged trees,
Filling its leafy coverts with a horror
Thrilling and strange? I am the friendless guest
Of these wild oaks and pines-and as from thee
I have received the hospitality
Of this rude place, I offer thee the fruit
Of years of toil in recompense; whate'er
Thy wildest dream presented to thy thought
As object of desire, that shall be thine.
And thenceforth shall so firm an amity
"Twixt thou and me be, that neither fortune,
The monstrous phantom which pursues success,
That careful miser, that free prodigal,
Who ever alternates with changeful hand
Evil and good, reproach and fame; nor Time,
That loadstar of the ages, to whose beam
The winged years speed o'er the intervals
Of their unequal revolutions; nor
Heaven itself, whose beautiful bright stars
Rule and adorn the world, can ever make
The least division between thee and me,
Since now I find a refuge in thy favour.
The DEMON tempts JUSTINA, who is a Christian.
DÆMON.
Abyss of Hell! I call on thee,
Thou wild misrule of thine own anarchy !
From thy prison-house set free
The spirits of voluptuous death,
That with their mighty breath
They may destroy a world of virgin thoughts;
Let her chaste mind with fancies thick as motes
Be peopled from thy shadowy deep,
Till her guiltless phantasy
Full to overflowing be!
And, with sweetest harmony,
"Tis that enamoured nightingale
Who gives me the reply:
He ever tells the same soft tale
Of passion and of constancy
To his mate, who, rapt and fond,
Listening sits, a bough beyond.
Be silent, Nightingale!-No more
Make me think, in hearing thee
Thus tenderly thy love deplore,
If a bird can feel his so,
What a man would feel for me.
And, voluptuous vine, O thou
Who seekest most when least pursuing,
To the trunk thou interlacest
Art the verdure which embracest,
And the weight which is its ruin,
No more, with green embraces, vine,
Make me think on what thou lovest,-
For whilst thou thus thy boughs entwine,
sophist,
How arms might be entangled too
Let birds, and flowers, and leaves, and all things move I fear lest thou shouldst teach
To love, only to love.
Let nothing meet her eyes
But signs of Love's soft victories;
Let nothing meet her ear
But sounds of Love's sweet sorrow;
So that from faith no succour may she borrow,
But, guided by my spirit blind
And in a magic snare entwined,
She may now seek Cyprian.
Begin, while I in silence bind
My voice, when thy sweet song thou hast begun.
Light-enchanted sunflower, thou
Who gazest ever true and tender
On the sun's revolving splendour,
Follow not his faithless glance
With thy faded countenance,
Nor teach my beating heart to fear,
If leaves can mourn without a tear,
How eyes must weep! O Nightingale,
Cease from thy enamoured tale,-
Leafy vine, unwreath thy bower, Restless sunflower, cease to move,Or tell me all, what poisonous power Ye use against me.
It cannot be! Whom have I ever loved!
Trophies of my oblivion and disdain,
Floro and Lelio did I not reject?
And Cyprian?-
[She becomes troubled at the name of CYPRIAN.
Did I not requite him
With such severity, that he has fled
Where none has ever heard of him again?—
Alas! I now begin to fear that this
May be the occasion whence desire grows bold,
As if there were no danger. From the moment
That I pronounced to my own listening heart,
Cyprian is absent, O miserable me!
I know not what I feel!
[More calmly. It must be pity
To think that such a man, whom all the world
Admired, should be forgot by all the world,
[She again becomes troubled.
And yet if it were pity,
Floro and Lelio might have equal share,
For they are both imprisoned for my sake. [Calmly.
Alas! what reasonings are these? It is
Enough I pity him, and that, in vain,
Without this ceremonious subtlety.
And woe is me! I know not where to find him now,
Even should I seek him through this wide world.
Follow, and I will lead thee where he is.
And who art thou, who hast found entrance hither, Into my chamber through the doors and locks? Art thou a monstrous shadow which my madness Has formed in the idle air?
Called by the thought which tyrannises thee
From his eternal dwelling; who this day
Is pledged to bear thee unto Cyprian.
So shall thy promise fail. This agony
Of passion which afflicts my heart and soul
May sweep imagination in its storm;
The will is firm.
In the imagination of an act.
The sin incurred, the pleasure then remains ; Let not the will stop half way on the road.
I will not be discouraged, nor despair,
Although I thought it, and although 'tis true
That thought is but a prelude to the deed :-
Thought is not in my power, but action is:
I will not move my foot to follow thee.
Appeal to Heaven against thee! so that Heaven
May scatter thy delusions, and the blot
Upon my fame vanish in idle thought,
Even as flame dies in the envious air,
And as the flow'ret wanes at morning frost,
And thou shouldst never-But, alas! to whom
Do I still speak?-Did not a man but now
Stand here before me?-No, I am alone,
And yet I saw him. Is he gone so quickly!
Or can the heated mind engender shapes
From its own fear? Some terrible and strange
Peril is near. Lisander! father! lord!
FROM THE FAUST OF GOETHE.
The LORD and the Host of Heaven.
THE Sun makes music as of old
Amid the rival spheres of Heaven,
On its predestined circle rolled
With thunder speed: the Angels even
Draw strength from gazing on its glance,
Though none its meaning fathom may;—
The world's unwithered countenance
Is bright as at creation's day.
And swift and swift, with rapid lightness, The adorned Earth spins silently, Alternating Elysian brightness
With deep and dreadful night; the sea Foams in broad billows from the deep
Up to the rocks; and rocks and ocean, Onward, with spheres which never sleep, Are hurried in eternal motion.
And tempests in contention roar
From land to sea, from sea to land; And, raging, weave a chain of power Which girds the earth as with a band. A flashing desolation there
Flames before the thunder's way;
But thy servants, Lord, revere
The gentle changes of thy day.
CHORUS OF THE THREE.
The Angels draw strength from thy glance,
Though no one comprehend thee may :-
Thy world's unwithered countenance
Is bright as on creation's day.*
The sun sounds, according to ancient custom, In the song of emulation of his brother-spheres, And its fore-written circle
Fulfils with a step of thunder.
Its countenance gives the Angels strength,
Though no one can fathom it.
The incredible high works
Are excellent as at the first day.
As thou, O Lord, once more art kind enough
To interest thyself in our affairs-
And ask, "How goes it with you there below?"
And as indulgently at other times
Thou tookedst not my visits in ill part,
Thou seest me here once more among thy household. Though I should scandalize this company,
You will excuse me if I do not talk
In the high style which they think fashionable;
My pathos certainly would make you laugh too,
Had you not long since given over laughing.
Nothing know I to say of suns and worlds;
I observe only how men plague themselves;—
The little god o' the world keeps the same stamp,
As wonderful as on creation's day :-
A little better would he live, hadst thou
Not given him a glimpse of Heaven's light
Which he calls reason, and employs it only
To live more beastily than any beast.
And swift, and inconceivably swift
The adornment of earth winds itself round,
And exchanges Paradise-clearness
With deep dreadful night.
The sea foams in broad waves
From its deep bottom up to the rocks,
And rocks and sea are torn on together
In the eternal swift course of the spheres.
And storms roar in emulation
From sea to land, from land to sea,
And make, raging, a chain
Of deepest operation round about.
There flames a flashing destruction
Before the path of the thunderbolt.
But thy servants, Lord, revere
The gentle alternations of thy day.
Thy countenance gives the Angels strength,
Though none can comprehend thee:
And all thy lofty works
Are excellent as at the first day.
Such is the literal translation of this astonisning Chorus; I
it is impossible to represent in another language the melody of the versification; even the volatile strength and delicacy of the ideas escape in the crucible of translation, and the reader is surprised to find a caput mortuum.—Author's | Note.
With reverence to your Lordship be it spoken,
He's like one of those long-legged grasshoppers
Who flits and jumps about, and sings for ever
The same old song i' the grass. There let him lie,
Burying his nose in every heap of dung.
Have you no more to say? Do you come here
Always to scold, and cavil, and complain?
Seems nothing ever right to you on earth?
No, Lord; I find all there, as ever, bad at best.
Even I am sorry for man's days of sorrow;
I could myself almost give up the pleasure
Of plaguing the poor things.
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,
Like my old paramour, the famous Snake.
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
Knowest thou Faust? Clasp you within the limits of its love;
And seize with sweet and melancholy thoughts
The floating phantoms of its loveliness.
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