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Of the wild stream that rushes by,

With melted snow-wreaths flushing high;
The fulness of the flood thou'st pour'd
Into her heart, and now, adored!
The torrent of thy love is dry!
Methinks, instead of thus, alone,
Making the forest wild your throne,
"Twere better that you would reward
The little monkey's warm regard !
With her, time heavily and sadly weighs;
Standing beside her window, still her gaze
Is fix'd upon the clouds that roll and fall
Afar, beyond the ancient city's wall;

And "Were I but a bird," so runs her song

Half through the night, and all the whole day long!
Cheerful awhile, but mostly pensive, she

Now seems as if outwept—and then will be

Composed apparently-but lovesick ever!

Faust. Snake! Serpent!

Meph. (aside).

Faust.

Good! if I can catch you!

Never

Name that fair creature to me-get thee hence,

And do not for her beauty wake the sense

Of wild desire amid the thoughts that lie

Within my soul all half distractedly!

Meph. What will you then? she surely (thinks that

you

Have now quite left her, and almost 'tis true.

Faust. I'm near her now-and should I e'er

Be distant from her, I could ne'er

Forget her, or decaying, find

Her memory fading from

my mind.

Yea! when her lips their touch have lent

Unto the elements adored,

I envy, in the sacrament,

Even the body of the Lord!

Meph. Right! and I oft have envied you, indeed,
The twin-pair that among the roses feed!

Faust. Hence with thee, pander, leave me !
Meph.

You scold, and I from laughing can't forbear.
The God who boy and maiden made
Well understood the worthy trade
Of making time and place besides-away!
A great thing this so much at heart to lay;
You ought unto your love at once to hie,
Into her chamber!—not, I think, to die!

Soft and fair!

Faust. What! in her arms are all the joys of heaven? Oh! let the rapture be unto me given

To glow with passion on her yielded breast!
Feel I not ever with her grief distress'd ?
The all-scorn'd outcast, am I not,

The fugitive, the homeless one?
The monster of his kind, whose lot

Of aim, and end, and peace hath none? Who, like a torrent dash'd and hurl'd From rock to rock, still hasteneth

In greedy fury, to be whirl'd

Down the abyss that yawns beneath?
And she who stands beside this torrent wild,
With thought as simple as a little child,
Upon an alpine field her cottage placed,
Her cares all in that little world embraced;
Was't not enough, God-hated, then, that thou

Shouldst seize the rocks and shatter them,-but now
Her peace, too, thou must sap and overthrow ?

Hell! thou must also have this offering!
Help me, then, devil! give thine aid to bring
The term of anguish to a quicker date !

Let what must come, come swiftly-let her fate
Fall with mine own, and with the self-same crush

Let us together to destruction rush!

Meph. There! how it seethes again, and glows and burns!

Away! get in, you fool, and comfort her!
When such a head no outlet way discerns,
It deems directly that the end is near.
To him of courage and good heart, success!

There's devil enough sometimes amid your bearing;

I nothing know so flat and spiritless,

As is a devil when he turns despairing!

MARGARET'S CHAMBER.

MARGARET, alone at her spinning-wheel.

Marg. My heart is heavy,
My peace is o'er;

I shall find it never,—
Oh, never more!

Where I see him not,

Seems the grave to be!

Tuneless and harsh

All the world to me.

[blocks in formation]

SCENE.-MARTHA'S GARDEN.

MARGARET, Faust.

Marg. Nay, Henri, promise me!

Faust.

Whate'er I can!

Marg. How of religion, tell me, do you deem?
Thou art a good, a kind, a loving man,

But that, I think you hold in light esteem !
Faust. No more of that, my child—you prove
That I to thee am kind and good;

I would for any whom I love,

Lay down my life, or shed my blood.

I'd wither in the heart of none
The faith and feeling that they own;
Their church from no one would I steal.
Marg. That is not the right way to feel,
For we must all believe it.

Faust.

Must we so?

Marg. Ah! if my influence o'er you aught could do! You honour not the holy Sacrament!

Faust. I hold it in respect.

Marg.

But it is ne'er

With any wish, or a desire to share!

Long is it since to mass or shrift you went! Do you believe in God?

Faust.

Dare say

My loved one,-who

"I do believe in God"-for you

May this of priests and sages ask,
And what they give thee for reply
Will, to the questioner, seem a mask,
For scorn or mockery.

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