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The Lord and the Host of Heaven.
Enter Three Archangell.
The Bun 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.


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 circlo

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.

Enter Mephistopheles.

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 bcastily than any beast.


And swift, and inconceivably swift

The adornment of earth winds itself round,

And exchanges Paradise-clearness

With doep 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 courso 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, rcvero
The gentle alternations of thy day.


Thy countenance gives the Angels strength.
Though none can comprohend thee:
And all thy lofty works
Are excellent as at the first day.

Such is tho literal translation of thUaaxozuantzurCaoriit; it is impossible to represent in another language the mdosy of the versification ; even the volatilo strength and ddioftrT of the ideas cscApe in the crucible of translation, and tbe reader is surprised to find a caput mortuuin.—.twtssrV Sole.

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 1
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.


Knowest thou Faust!

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In truth
He serves you in a fashion quite his own,
And the fool's meat and drink are not of earth.
His aspirations bear him on so far
That he is half aware of his own folly,
For he demands from Heaven its fairest star,
And from the earth the highest joy it bears;
Yet all things far, and all things near, are vain
To calm the deep emotions of his breast.


Though he now serves me in a cloud of error,
I will soon lead him forth to the clear day.
When trees lookgreen,fullwell the gardener knows
That fruits and blooms will deck the coming year.


What will you bet 1—now I am sure of winning—
Only observe you give me full permission
To lead him softly on my path.


As long As he shall live upon the earth, so long Is nothing unto thee forbidden.—Man Most err till he has ceased to struggle.


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.


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.


Well and good. I am not in much doubt about my bet,

And, if I loBe, 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
Clasp you within the limits of its love;
And seize with sweet and melancholy thoughts
The floating phantoms of its loveliness.

{Heaven close* i the Archangel* exeunt.


From time to time I visit the old fellow,

And I take care to keep on good terms with bin..

Civil enough is this same God Almighty,

To talk so freely with the Devil himself.



The Ilartz Mountain, a desolate Country.


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 tli' appointed place.


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 I


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

Onestumble8'gainstsomecrag. With your permis

I'll call an Ignis-fatuus to our aid: [sion

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 1

Pray be so good as light us up this way.

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I see you are the master of the house;

I will accommodate myself to you.

Only consider that to-night this mountain

Is all-enchanted, and if Jack-a-lantern

Shows you his way, though you should miss your own,

You ought not to be too exact with him.

Faust, Mefhistophslzs, and Ionis-fatuus in alternate
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 Bound 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 Bide,

With strange contortions through the night,

Curls, to seize or to affright;

And animated, strong, and many,

They dart forth polypus-antenna;,

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,

Through the heath and through the moss;

And in legions intertangled,

The fire-flies flit, and swarm, and throng,

Till all the mountain depths are spangled.

Tell me, shall we go or stay t
Shall we onward! Come along!
Everything around is swept
Forward, onward, far away!
Trees and masses intercept
The sight, and wisps on every side
Are puffed up and multiplied.


Now vigorously seize my skirt, and gain
This pinnacle of isolated crag.
One may observe with wonder from this point
How Mammon glows among the mountains


And strangely through the solid depth below
A melancholy light, like the red dawn,
Shoots from the lowest gorge of the abyss
Of mountains, lighting hitherward; there, rise
Pillars of smoke ; here, clouds float gently by;
Here the light burns soft as the enkindled air,
Or the illumined dust of golden flowers;
And now it glides like tender colours spreading;
And now bursts forth in fountains from the

And now it winds one torrent of broad UgLt,
Through the far valley with a hundred veins;
And now once more within that narrow corner
Masses itself into intensest splendour.
And near us see sparks spring out of the groan*,
Like golden sand scattered upon the darkness;
The pinnacles of that black wall of mountain*
That hems us in are kindled.


Rare, in faith! Does not Sir Mammon gloriously illuminate His palace for this festival—it is A pleasure which you had not known before I spy the boisterous guests already.

How The children of the wind rage in the air! With what fierce strokes they fall upon my neck!


Cling tightly to the old ribs of the crag.
Beware ! for if with them thou warrest
In their fierce flight towards the wilderness,
Their breath will sweep thee into dust, and drag
Thy body to a grave in the abyss.

A cloud thickens the night.
Hark! how the tempest crashes through the forest!

The owls fly out in strange affright; The columns of the evergreen palaces

Are split and shattered;

The roots creak, and stretch, and groan;

And ruinously overthrown,

The trunks are crushed and shattered

By the fierce blast's unconquerable stress.

Over each other crack and crash they all

In terrible and intertangled fall;

And through the ruins of the shaken mountauv
The airs hiss and howl—

It is not the voice of the fountain.
Nor the wolf in his midnight pro* 1.

Dost thou not hear!

Strange accents are ringing
Aloft, afar, anear;

The witches are singing!
The torrent of a raging wizard's song
Streams the whole mountain along.


The stubble is yellow, the corn is green,
Now to the Brocken the witches go;
The mighty multitude here may be seen
Gathering, wizard and witch, below.
Sir Urean is sitting aloft in the air;
Hey over stock! and hey over stone!
'Twixt witches and incubi, what shall be done t
Tell it who dare! tell it who dare!


Upon a sow-swine, whose farrows were nine,
Old Baubo rideth alone.


Honour her to whom honour is due,

Old mother Baubo, honour to you!

An able sow with old Baubo upon her,

Is worthy of glory, and worthy of honour!

The legion of witches is coming behind,

Darkening the night and outspeeding the wind—


Which way comest thou 1


Over Ilsenstein; The owl was awake in the white moon-shine; I saw her at rest in her downy nest, And she stared at me with her broad bright eyne.

And yon may now as well take your course on to

Since you ride by so fast on the headlong blast.

She dropt poison upon me as I past.
Here are the wounds—


Come away ! come along! The way is wide, the way is long, But what is that for a Bedlam throng 1 Stick with the prong, and scratch with the broom. The child in the cradle lies strangled at home, And the mother is clapping her hands.—


We glide in Like snails when the women are all away; And from a house once given over to sin Woman has a thousand steps to stray.


A thousand steps must a woman take,
Where a man but a single spring will make.


Come with us, come with us, from Felunsee.


With what joy would we fly through the upper sky; We are washed, we are 'nointed, stark naked are we! But our toil and our pain are for ever in vain.


The wind is still, the stars are fled,
The melancholy moon is dead;
The magic notes, like spark on spark,
Drizzle, whistling through the dark.
Come away!

Stay, oh stay!


Out of the crannies of the rocks
Who calls!


Oh, let me join your flocks!
I, three hundred years have striven
To catch your skirt and mount to Heaven,—■
And still in vain. Oh, might I be
With company akin to me!


Some on a ram and some on a prong,

On poles and on broomsticks we flutter along;

Forlorn is the wight who cau rise not to-night.


I have been tripping this many an hour:
Are the others already so far before!
No quiet at home, and no peace abroad!
And less methinks is found by the road.


Come onward, away! aroint thee, aroint 1

A witch to be strong must anoint—anoint—

Then every trough will be boat enough;

With a rag for a sail we can sweep through the sky,

Who flies not to-night, when means he to fly!


We cling to the skirt, and we strike on the ground; Witch-legions thicken around and around; Wizard-swarms cover the heath all over.

[Thty descend.

What thronging, dashing, raging, rustling!
What whispering, babbling, hissing, bustling!
What glimmering, spurting, stinking, burning I
As Heaven and earth were overturning.
There is a true witch element about us;
Take hold on me, or we shall be divided :—
Where are you!

Faust (from a distance).


What! I must exert my authority in the house. Place for young Voland 1 Pray make way, good

people. Take hold on me, doctor, and with one step Let us escape from this unpleasant crowd: They are too mad for people of my sort. Just there shines a peculiar kind of light— Something attracts me in those bushes.—Come This way; we shall slip down there in a minute.


Sou-it of Contradiction I Well, lead on—
'Twere a wise feat indeed to wander out
Into the Brocken upon May-day night,
And then to isolate oneself in scorn,
Disgusted with the humours of the time.

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Many a riddle there is tied anew
Inextricably. Let the great world rage!
We will stay here safe in the quiet dwellings.
"I'is an old custom. Men have ever built
Their own small world in the great world of all.
I see young witches naked there, and old ones
Wisely attired with greater decency,
lie guided now by me, and you shall buy
A pound of pleasure with a dram of trouble.
I hear them tune their instruments—one must
Get used to this damned scraping. Come, I'll

lead you
Among them ; and what there you do and see,
As a fresh compact 'twixt us two shall be.

How say you now t this Bpace is wide enough—
Look forth, you cannot see the end of it—-
A hundred bonfires burn in rows, and they
Who throng around them seem innumerable:
Dancing and drinking, jabbering, making love,
And cooking, are at work. Now tell me, friend,
What is there better in the world than this t


In introducing us, do you assume
The character of wizard or of devil I

In truth, I generally go about
In strict incognito; and yet one likes
To wear one's orders upon gala days.
I have no ribbon at my knee ; but here
At home the cloven foot is honourable.
See you that snail there t—she comes creeping up,
And with her feeling eyes hath smelt out some-
I could not, if I would, mask myself here.
Come now we'll go about from fire to fire:
I'll be the pimp, and you shall be the lover.

[To some old Women, who are fitting round a heap of glimmering coals. Old gentlewomen, what do you do out here t You ought to be with the young rioters Right in the thickest of the revelry— But every one is best content at home.


Who dare confide in right or a just claim!

So much as I had done for them! and now— With women and the people 'tis the same,

Youth will stand foremost ever,—age may go To the dark grave unhonoured.


Now-a-days People assert their rights; they go too far;

But, as for me, the good old times I praise. Then we were all in all; 'twas something worth

One's while to be in place and wear a star; That was indeed the golden age on earth.

Parvenu *. We too are active, and we did and do What we ought not perhaps ; and yet we now Will seize, whilst all things are whirled round and

round, A spoke of Fortune's wheel, and keep onr ground.


Who now can taste a treatise of deep sense
And ponderous volume! 'Tis impertinence
To write what none will read, therefore will 1
To please the young and thoughtless people try.

MEPHISTOPHELES. ( Who at once appears to here*

grown very old.)
I find the people ripe for the last day,
Since I last came up to the wizard mountain;
And as my little cask runs turbid now,
So is the world drained to the dregs.


Look here, Gentlemen ; do not hurry on so fast, And lose the chance of a good pennyworth. I have a pack full of the choicest wares Of every sort, and yet in all my bundle Is nothing like what may be found on earth; Nothing that in a moment will make rich Men and the world with fine malicious mischief— There is no dagger drunk with blood ; no bowl From which consuming poison may be drained By innocent and healthy lips; no jewel, The price of an abandoned maiden's shame; No sword which cuts the bond it cannot loose, Or stabs the wearer's enemy in the back;


Gossip, yon know little of these times.
What has been, has been ; what is done, is past.
They shape themselves into the innovations
They breed, and innovation drags us with it.
The torrent of the crowd sweeps over us;
You think to impel, and are yourself impelled.

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