 | Faustus, A Dramatic Mystery ; The Bride of Corinth ; The First Walpurgis Night |  |
178
A NEAT LITTLE ROOM.
Margaret.
I would give something now to know
The gentleman who met me, though;
He had a proud and princely air,
Is one of the nobility;
Look on his brow, you read it there,
And if he were not, he would stare
With somewhat more civility.
[Exit.
Mephistopheles and Faustus.
Mephistopheles.
Come in—tread softly—but come in.
Faustus
(after a pause).
Leave me, now leave me, I entreat.
Mephistopheles
(prying about).
The place is tidy and quite clean;
—Not every damsel's is so neat.
[Exit.
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(looking round).
How calm! how happy dwells the tender light
In this still sanctuary reposing here,
And the sweet spirit of peace pervading all,
And blessing all.—Spirit of peace and love,
I give myself to thee! Oh, love, whose breath
Is fed on the delicious dew of hope,
Be thou henceforth my life!
How round us breathe
In every thing the same prevailing quiet
And neatness, and the feeling of contentment!
—In low estate what more than riches are,
And this poor cell how very, very happy!
[He throws himself on the leathern arm-chair beside the bed.
Receive me, thou who hast with open arm,
Year after year, the generations gone
Welcomed in joy and grief: how many a swarm
Of children round this patriarchal throne
Have gathered here! perhaps beside this seat—
I well can fancy it—a happy child
—Even now she scarce is more—at Christmas eve,
My love has knelt down at her grandsire's feet,
Among the children grouping to receive
The Christmas gifts, with pleasure undefiled,
Kissing the good old man I see her stand,
Her young round cheeks prest on his withered hand.
In this still sanctuary reposing here,
And the sweet spirit of peace pervading all,
And blessing all.—Spirit of peace and love,
I give myself to thee! Oh, love, whose breath
Is fed on the delicious dew of hope,
Be thou henceforth my life!
How round us breathe
In every thing the same prevailing quiet
And neatness, and the feeling of contentment!
—In low estate what more than riches are,
And this poor cell how very, very happy!
[He throws himself on the leathern arm-chair beside the bed.
Receive me, thou who hast with open arm,
Year after year, the generations gone
Welcomed in joy and grief: how many a swarm
Of children round this patriarchal throne
Have gathered here! perhaps beside this seat—
I well can fancy it—a happy child
—Even now she scarce is more—at Christmas eve,
My love has knelt down at her grandsire's feet,
Among the children grouping to receive
The Christmas gifts, with pleasure undefiled,
Kissing the good old man I see her stand,
Her young round cheeks prest on his withered hand.
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The spirit of contentment, maiden dear,
Is breathing in thy very atmosphere;
I feel it sway me while I linger here.
The sense of neatness, felt in every thing,
Speaks with a mother's voice, and bids thee spread
The little table with its covering,
The floor with clean sand crackling to the tread.
Every where round the hand beloved I trace,
That makes a paradise of any place.
Is breathing in thy very atmosphere;
I feel it sway me while I linger here.
The sense of neatness, felt in every thing,
Speaks with a mother's voice, and bids thee spread
The little table with its covering,
The floor with clean sand crackling to the tread.
Every where round the hand beloved I trace,
That makes a paradise of any place.
Here could I linger hours on hours,
Where dreams and meditative thought,
And, nature, thy benignant powers
Within her virgin bosom wrought,
As day by day each influence pure,
Of heaven and earth her heart mature,
And fain would welcome forth, and win
To light, the angel from within.
Where dreams and meditative thought,
And, nature, thy benignant powers
Within her virgin bosom wrought,
As day by day each influence pure,
Of heaven and earth her heart mature,
And fain would welcome forth, and win
To light, the angel from within.
Here lay the slumbering child, her tender breast
Filled with the warmth of happy life; and here
The heavenly image, on the soul imprest,
Came out, as clouds past off, divinely clear.
Filled with the warmth of happy life; and here
The heavenly image, on the soul imprest,
Came out, as clouds past off, divinely clear.
But thou, accursed, what art thou?
What brings thee to her chamber now?
Alas! I tremble but to think,
And feel my heart within me shrink.
Poor Faustus! has some magic cloud
Befooled thine eyes? thy reason bowed?
Else why this burning passion strange?
And why to love this sudden change?
Oh man—unstable, erring, blind,
The plaything of the passing wind!
What brings thee to her chamber now?
Alas! I tremble but to think,
And feel my heart within me shrink.
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Befooled thine eyes? thy reason bowed?
Else why this burning passion strange?
And why to love this sudden change?
Oh man—unstable, erring, blind,
The plaything of the passing wind!
And, should she now return and meet
Thee here, how would the boaster shrink
Into the coward! at her feet
In what confusion sink!
Thee here, how would the boaster shrink
Into the coward! at her feet
In what confusion sink!
Mephistopheles
(entering).
Away—I see her at the door.
Faustus.
I go, and I return no more.
Mephistopheles.
This casket, with its jewels rare,
I got it—but no matter where—
Or—what was to be given instead,—
Some things are better left unsaid;—
I've brought them for you—don't forget
To place them in her cabinet.
On her imagination seizing,
They soon will lull to rest her reason:
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I got them for another friend:
The casket and the trifles in it
He thought might buy a happy minute;
And he was one who knew the fashion
In which to woo, and woman's passion;
But child is child, and maid and lover
Play the same game the wide world over.
Faustus.
I know not; ought I?
Mephistopheles.
Can you ask it?
Perhaps you wish to keep the casket;
If so—and that 'tis avarice—
I wish you joy of this cheap vice;
I'm glad the momentary bubble
Of love has burst—it saves me trouble;
And easier pastimes you may find
Than practising upon her mind.
My poor brain scarcely understands
What you are at—I rub my hands
And scratch my head.
[Places the casket in the press, and closes the lock.
Away—come quick—
Soon shall this young one, fancy-sick,
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All to one object pointing still;
And there are you,—as starched and dull
As if 'twere your old lecture-room,
And the two sisters beautiful,
Physics and Metaphysics, whom
You loved so long, were standing there,
With their hagged faces and grey hair,
In person by the doctor's chair.
Come, come.
[Exeunt.
Enter Margaret (with a lamp).
Margaret.
It feels so close, so sultry here,
Yet out of doors I thought it chill.
—When will my mother come? A thrill
Runs through my frame—I am, I fear,
A foolish, foolish woman.
[She begins to sing as she undresses herself.
There was a king in Thulé,
And he loved an humble maid;
And she who loved him truly,
When she came to her death-bed,
And he loved an humble maid;
And she who loved him truly,
When she came to her death-bed,
A golden cup she gave him,
Which none could better prize;
And ever, as he drank of it,
Tears dimmed his flowing eyes.
Which none could better prize;
184
Tears dimmed his flowing eyes.
And when he came to die,
To his heirs his wealth he told;
Left all without a sigh
But his mistress' cup of gold.
To his heirs his wealth he told;
Left all without a sigh
But his mistress' cup of gold.
As at the royal banquet
Among his knights sate he,
In the high hall of his fathers,
In their fortress o'er the sea,
Among his knights sate he,
In the high hall of his fathers,
In their fortress o'er the sea,
Up stood the gay old monarch;
For the last time up he stood;
For the last time drained the blessed cup,
And threw it in the flood.
For the last time up he stood;
For the last time drained the blessed cup,
And threw it in the flood.
He saw it falling, filling,
And sinking in the sea;
His eyes lost sight of it, and sank,
And never more drank he.
And sinking in the sea;
His eyes lost sight of it, and sank,
And never more drank he.
How came this brilliant casket here?
I locked the press, I'd almost swear.
The cover's beautiful—I wonder
What it may be that lies under?
185
Lent to somebody or other.
I think I'll open it—and, see,
Attached to it, and tempting me,
A riband with a little key.
How very beautiful it is!
I've never seen the like of this!
Jewels and pearls!—At mask or ball
'Twould grace the proudest dame of all
Who glitter at high festival.
I wonder how 'twould look on me?
Whose can the glorious splendour be?
[She puts them on, and stands before the glass.
Oh, if I had these ear-rings only!
Drest thus, I seem a different creature!
What good are charms of form and feature
Though poor maids are both mild and fair,
The world for ever leaves them lonely—
Man may praise,
Yet half he says
Seems less like kindness than compassion—
For gold he strives,
For gold he wives—
Alas! the poor are not in fashion!
| Faustus, A Dramatic Mystery ; The Bride of Corinth ; The First Walpurgis Night | |