THE LORD.

Though he now serves me in a cloud of error,

I will soon lead him forth to the clear day.

When trees look green full well the gardener knows That fruits and blooms will deck the coming year.

What will

MEPHISTOPHELES,

you bet?-now I am sure of winningOnly, observe you give me full permission To lead him softly on my path.

THE LORD.

As long

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

MEPHISTOPHELES.

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.

THE LORD.

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.

MEPHISTOPHELES.

Well and good.

I am not in much doubt about my bet,

And if I lose, then 'tis your turn to crow;

Enjoy your triumph then with a full breast.

Aye; dust shall he devour, and that with pleasure,
Like my old paramour, the famous Snake.

THE LORD.

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 closes; the Archangels exeunt.

MEPHISTOPHELES.

From time to time I visit the old fellow,

And I take care to keep on good terms with him.
Civil enough is this same God Almighty,

To talk so freely with the Devil himself.

SCENES

FROM THE FAUST OF GOETHE.

MAY-DAY NIGHT.

SCENE-The Hartz Mountain, a desolate Country.

FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES.

MEPHISTOPHELES.

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 th' appointed place.

FAUST.

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,

Is 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 ?

MEPHISTOPHELES.

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

One stumbles 'gainst some crag.

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

I see one yonder burning jollily.

With your permission,

Halloo, my friend! may I request that you
Would favour us with your bright company?
Why should you blaze away there to no purpose?
Pray be so good as light us up this way.

IGNIS-FATUUS.

With reverence be it spoken, I will try
To overcome the lightness of my nature;
Our course, you know, is generally zig-zag.

MEPHISTOPHELES.

Ha, ha! your worship thinks you have to deal
With men. Go strait on, in the Devil's name,
Or I shall puff your flickering life out.

IGNIS-FATUUS.

I see you are the master of the house;

I will accommodate myself to you.

Well,

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, MEPHISTOPHELES, and IGNIS-FATUUS, in alternate Chorus.

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 desart 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 sound 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?

2 D