 | Faustus, A Dramatic Mystery ; The Bride of Corinth ; The First Walpurgis Night |  |
25
Scene, A high-arched, narrow, Gothic chamber— Faustus at his desk—restless.
Faustus.
Alas! I have explored
Philosophy, and Law, and Medicine;
And over deep Divinity have pored,
Studying with ardent and laborious zeal;
And here I am at last, a very fool,
With useless learning curst,
No wiser than at first!
Here am I—boast and wonder of the school;
Magister, Doctor, and I lead
These ten years past, my pupils' creed;
Winding, by dexterous words, with ease,
Their opinions as I please.
And now to feel that nothing can be known!
This is a thought that burns into my heart.
I have been more acute than all these triflers,
Doctors and authors, priests, philosophers;
Have sounded all the depths of every science.
Scruples, or the perplexity of doubt,
Torment me not, nor fears of hell or devil;
But I have lost all peace of mind:
Whate'er I knew, or thought I knew,
Seems now unmeaning or untrue.
Unhappy, ignorant, and blind,
I cannot hope to teach mankind.
Thus robbed of learning's only pleasure,
Without dominion, rank, or treasure,
Without one joy that earth can give,
Could dog—were I a dog—so live?
Therefore to magic, with severe
And patient toil, have I applied,
Despairing of all other guide,
That from some Spirit I might hear
Deep truths, to others unrevealed,
And mysteries from mankind sealed;
And never more, with shame of heart,
Teach things, of which I know no part.
Oh, for a glance into the earth!
To see below its dark foundations,
Life's embryo seeds before their birth
And Nature's silent operations.
Thus end at once this vexing fever
Of words—mere words—repeated ever.
Philosophy, and Law, and Medicine;
And over deep Divinity have pored,
Studying with ardent and laborious zeal;
And here I am at last, a very fool,
With useless learning curst,
No wiser than at first!
Here am I—boast and wonder of the school;
Magister, Doctor, and I lead
These ten years past, my pupils' creed;
Winding, by dexterous words, with ease,
Their opinions as I please.
And now to feel that nothing can be known!
This is a thought that burns into my heart.
I have been more acute than all these triflers,
Doctors and authors, priests, philosophers;
Have sounded all the depths of every science.
Scruples, or the perplexity of doubt,
26
But I have lost all peace of mind:
Whate'er I knew, or thought I knew,
Seems now unmeaning or untrue.
Unhappy, ignorant, and blind,
I cannot hope to teach mankind.
Thus robbed of learning's only pleasure,
Without dominion, rank, or treasure,
Without one joy that earth can give,
Could dog—were I a dog—so live?
Therefore to magic, with severe
And patient toil, have I applied,
Despairing of all other guide,
That from some Spirit I might hear
Deep truths, to others unrevealed,
And mysteries from mankind sealed;
And never more, with shame of heart,
Teach things, of which I know no part.
Oh, for a glance into the earth!
To see below its dark foundations,
Life's embryo seeds before their birth
And Nature's silent operations.
Thus end at once this vexing fever
Of words—mere words—repeated ever.
Beautiful Moon!—Ah! would that now,
For the last time, thy lovely beams
Shone on my troubled brow!
Oft by this desk, at middle night,
I have sat gazing for thy light,
Wearied with search, through volumes endless,
I sate 'mong papers—crowded books,
Alone—when thou, friend of the friendless,
Camest smiling in, with soothing looks.
Oh, that upon some headland height
I now were wandering in thy light!
Floating with Spirits, like a shadow,
Round mountain-cave, o'er twilight meadow;
And from the toil of thought relieved,
No longer sickened and deceived,
In thy soft dew could bathe, and find
Tranquillity and health of mind.
For the last time, thy lovely beams
Shone on my troubled brow!
27
I have sat gazing for thy light,
Wearied with search, through volumes endless,
I sate 'mong papers—crowded books,
Alone—when thou, friend of the friendless,
Camest smiling in, with soothing looks.
Oh, that upon some headland height
I now were wandering in thy light!
Floating with Spirits, like a shadow,
Round mountain-cave, o'er twilight meadow;
And from the toil of thought relieved,
No longer sickened and deceived,
In thy soft dew could bathe, and find
Tranquillity and health of mind.
Alas! and am I in the gloom
Still of this cursed dungeon room?
Where even heaven's light, so beautiful,
Through the stained glass comes thick and dull;
'Mong volumes heaped from floor to ceiling,
Through whose pages worms are stealing;
Dreary walls, where dusty paper
Bears deep stains of smoky vapour;
Glasses, instruments, all lumber
Of this kind the place encumber;
All a man of learning gathers,
All bequeathed me by my fathers,
Crucibles from years undated,
Chairs of structure antiquated,
Are in strange confusion hurled!
Here, Faustus, is thy world—a world!
Still of this cursed dungeon room?
Where even heaven's light, so beautiful,
Through the stained glass comes thick and dull;
'Mong volumes heaped from floor to ceiling,
Through whose pages worms are stealing;
Dreary walls, where dusty paper
Bears deep stains of smoky vapour;
Glasses, instruments, all lumber
Of this kind the place encumber;
All a man of learning gathers,
All bequeathed me by my fathers,
28
Chairs of structure antiquated,
Are in strange confusion hurled!
Here, Faustus, is thy world—a world!
And dost thou ask, why in thy breast
The fearful heart is not at rest?
Why painful feelings, undefined,
With icy pressure cramp thy mind?
From living nature thou hast fled
To dwell 'mong fragments of the dead;
And for the lovely scenes which Heaven
Hath made man for, to man hath given;
Hast chosen to pore o'er mouldering bones
Of brute and human skeletons!
The fearful heart is not at rest?
Why painful feelings, undefined,
With icy pressure cramp thy mind?
From living nature thou hast fled
To dwell 'mong fragments of the dead;
And for the lovely scenes which Heaven
Hath made man for, to man hath given;
Hast chosen to pore o'er mouldering bones
Of brute and human skeletons!
Away—away and far away!
This book, where secret spells are scanned,
Traced by Nostradam's own hand,
Will be thy strength and stay:
The courses of the stars to thee
No longer are a mystery;
The thoughts of Nature thou canst seek,
As Spirits with their brothers speak.
It is, it is the sunrise hour
Of thy own being; light, and power,
And fervour to the soul are given,
As proudly it ascends its heaven.
To ponder here, o'er spells and signs,
Symbolic letters, circles, lines;
And from their actual use refrain,
Were time and labour lost in vain:
Then ye, whom I feel floating near me,
Spirits, answer, ye who hear me!
[He opens the book, and lights upon the sign
of Macrocosmus.
This book, where secret spells are scanned,
Traced by Nostradam's own hand,
Will be thy strength and stay:
The courses of the stars to thee
No longer are a mystery;
The thoughts of Nature thou canst seek,
As Spirits with their brothers speak.
It is, it is the sunrise hour
Of thy own being; light, and power,
29
As proudly it ascends its heaven.
To ponder here, o'er spells and signs,
Symbolic letters, circles, lines;
And from their actual use refrain,
Were time and labour lost in vain:
Then ye, whom I feel floating near me,
Spirits, answer, ye who hear me!
Ha! what new life divine, intense,
Floods in a moment every sense;
I feel the dawn of youth again,
Visiting each glowing vein!
Was it a god who wrote this sign?
The tumults of my soul are stilled,
My withered heart with rapture filled:
In virtue of the spell divine,
The secret powers that nature mould,
Their essence and their acts unfold—
Am I a god?—Can mortal sight
Enjoy, endure this burst of light?
How clear these silent characters!
All Nature present to my view,
And each creative act of hers—
And is the glorious vision true?
Floods in a moment every sense;
I feel the dawn of youth again,
Visiting each glowing vein!
Was it a god who wrote this sign?
The tumults of my soul are stilled,
My withered heart with rapture filled:
In virtue of the spell divine,
The secret powers that nature mould,
Their essence and their acts unfold—
Am I a god?—Can mortal sight
Enjoy, endure this burst of light?
How clear these silent characters!
All Nature present to my view,
And each creative act of hers—
And is the glorious vision true?
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The wise man's words at length are plain,
Whose sense so long I sought in vain:
“The Worlde of Spirits no Clouds conceale:
“Man's Eye is dim, it cannot see.
“Man's Heart is dead, it cannot feele.
“Thou, who wouldst knowe the Things that be,
“Bathe thy Heart in the Sunrise red,
“Till its Stains of earthlie drosse are fled.”
[He looks over the sign attentively.
Oh! how the spell before my sight
Brings nature's hidden ways to light:
See! all things with each other blending—
Each to all its being lending—
All on each in turn depending—
Heavenly ministers descending—
And again to heaven up-tending—
Floating, mingling, interweaving—
Rising, sinking, and receiving
Each from each, while each is giving
On to each, and each relieving
Each, the pails of gold, the living
Current through the air is heaving;
Breathing blessings, see them bending,
Balanced worlds from change defending,
While every where diffused is harmony unending!
Whose sense so long I sought in vain:
“The Worlde of Spirits no Clouds conceale:
“Man's Eye is dim, it cannot see.
“Man's Heart is dead, it cannot feele.
“Thou, who wouldst knowe the Things that be,
“Bathe thy Heart in the Sunrise red,
“Till its Stains of earthlie drosse are fled.”
[He looks over the sign attentively.
Oh! how the spell before my sight
Brings nature's hidden ways to light:
See! all things with each other blending—
Each to all its being lending—
All on each in turn depending—
Heavenly ministers descending—
And again to heaven up-tending—
Floating, mingling, interweaving—
Rising, sinking, and receiving
Each from each, while each is giving
On to each, and each relieving
Each, the pails of gold, the living
Current through the air is heaving;
Breathing blessings, see them bending,
Balanced worlds from change defending,
While every where diffused is harmony unending!
Oh! what a vision—but a vision only!
Can heart of man embrace
Illimitable Nature?
Fountain of life, forth-welling;
The same in every place;
That dost support and cheer
Wide heaven, and teeming earth, and every creature
That hath therein its dwelling,
Oh! could the blighted soul but feel thee near!
To thee still turns the withered heart;
To thee the spirit, seared and lonely,
Childlike, would seek the sweet restorative;
On thy maternal bosom feed and live.
I ask a solace thou dost not impart;
The food I hunger for thou dost not give!
[He turns over the leaves of the book impatiently, till his eye rests on the sign of the Spirit of the Earth.
How differently this sign affects my frame!
Spirit of Earth! my nature is the same,
Or near akin to thine!
How fearlessly I read this sign!
And feel even now new powers are mine;
While my brain burns, as though with wine;
Give me the agitated strife,
The madness of the world of life;
I feel within my soul the birth
Of strength, enabling me to bear,
And thoughts, impelling me to share
The fortunes, good or evil, of the earth;
To battle with the tempest's breath,
Or plunge where Shipwreck grinds his teeth.
All around grows cold and cloudy,
The moon withdraws her ray;
The lamp's loose flame is shivering,
It fades, it dies away.
Ha! round my brow what sparkles ruddy
In trembling light are quivering?
And, to and fro,
Stream sheets of flame, in fearful play,
Rolled and unrolled,
In crimson fold,
They float and flow!
From the vaulted space above,
A shuddering horror seems to move
Down,—down upon me creeps and seizes
The life's blood, in its grasp that freezes;
'Tis thou—I feel thee, Spirit, near,
Thou hast heard the spell, and thou
Art hovering around me now;
Spirit! to my sight appear,
How my heart is torn in sunder—
All my thoughts convulsed with wonder—
Every faculty and feeling
Strained to welcome thy revealing.
Spirit, my heart, my heart is given to thee,
Though death may be the price, I cannot choose but see!
Can heart of man embrace
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Fountain of life, forth-welling;
The same in every place;
That dost support and cheer
Wide heaven, and teeming earth, and every creature
That hath therein its dwelling,
Oh! could the blighted soul but feel thee near!
To thee still turns the withered heart;
To thee the spirit, seared and lonely,
Childlike, would seek the sweet restorative;
On thy maternal bosom feed and live.
I ask a solace thou dost not impart;
The food I hunger for thou dost not give!
[He turns over the leaves of the book impatiently, till his eye rests on the sign of the Spirit of the Earth.
How differently this sign affects my frame!
Spirit of Earth! my nature is the same,
Or near akin to thine!
How fearlessly I read this sign!
And feel even now new powers are mine;
While my brain burns, as though with wine;
Give me the agitated strife,
The madness of the world of life;
I feel within my soul the birth
Of strength, enabling me to bear,
And thoughts, impelling me to share
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To battle with the tempest's breath,
Or plunge where Shipwreck grinds his teeth.
All around grows cold and cloudy,
The moon withdraws her ray;
The lamp's loose flame is shivering,
It fades, it dies away.
Ha! round my brow what sparkles ruddy
In trembling light are quivering?
And, to and fro,
Stream sheets of flame, in fearful play,
Rolled and unrolled,
In crimson fold,
They float and flow!
From the vaulted space above,
A shuddering horror seems to move
Down,—down upon me creeps and seizes
The life's blood, in its grasp that freezes;
'Tis thou—I feel thee, Spirit, near,
Thou hast heard the spell, and thou
Art hovering around me now;
Spirit! to my sight appear,
How my heart is torn in sunder—
All my thoughts convulsed with wonder—
Every faculty and feeling
Strained to welcome thy revealing.
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Though death may be the price, I cannot choose but see!
[He grasps the book, and pronounces the sign of the Spirit mysteriously; a red flame is seen playing about, and in the flame the Spirit.
Spirit.
Who calls me?
Faustus
(averting his face).
Form of horror, hence!
Spirit.
Hither from my distant sphere,
Thou hast compelled me to appear;
Hast sucked me down, and dragged me thence,
With importuning violence;
And now—
Faustus.
I shudder, overpowered with fear
Spirit.
With what anxiety of mind
Didst thou demand to gaze on me,
My voice to hear, my form to see?
Thy longings, earnest and intense,
Have reached my sphere, and wrung me thence!
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Hath seized thee—thee, thou more than man?—
Where is the courage that could dare
To call on fleshless spirits?—where
The soul, that could conceive and plan,
Yea, and create its world;—whose pride
The bounds, which limit man, defied—
Heaved with high sense of inborn powers,
Nor feared to mete its strength with ours?
Where art thou, Faustus? thou whose voice I heard,
Whose mighty spirit pressed itself to mine!
Art thou the same, whose senses thus are shattered,
Whose very being in my breath is scattered,
Whose soul, into itself retreating,
Vain worm! can scarce endure the fearful meeting?—
Is this, indeed, the miserable sequel?
Faustus.
Creature of flame, shall I grow pale before thee?
'Twas I that called thee—Faustus—I, thine equal!
Spirit.
In the currents of life, in the tempests of motion,
Hither and thither
Over and under,
Wend I and wander—
Birth and the grave—
A limitless ocean,
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Undulates ever—
Under and over
Their toiling strife,
I mingle and hover,
The spirit of life:
Hear the murmuring wheel of time, unawed,
As I weave the living mantle of God!
Faustus.
Spirit, whose presence circles the wide earth,
How near akin to thine I feel my nature!
Spirit.
Man, thou art like those beings which thy mind
Can image, not like me!
[Vanishes.
Faustus
(overpowered with confusion).
Not like thee!
Formed in the image of the Deity,
And yet unmeet to be compared with thee!
[A knock.
'S death, 'tis this pupil lad of mine—
He comes my airy guests to banish.
This elevating converse dread,
These visions, dazzlingly outspread
Before my senses, all will vanish
At the formal fellow's tread!
36
Wagner.
Forgive me, but I thought you were declaiming.
You have been reciting some Greek play, no doubt;
I wish to improve myself in this same art;
'Tis a most useful one. I've heard it said,
An actor might give lessons to a parson.
Faustus.
Yes! when your parson is himself an actor;
A circumstance which very often happens!
Wagner.
Oh! if a man shuts himself up for ever
In his dull study; if he sees the world
Never, unless on some chance holyday,
Looks at it from a distance, through a telescope,
How can he learn to sway the minds of men
By eloquence? to rule them, or persuade?
Faustus.
If feeling does not prompt, in vain you strive;
If from the soul the language does not come,
By its own impulse, to impel the hearts
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In vain you strive—in vain you study earnestly.
Toil on for ever; piece together fragments;
Cook up your broken scraps of sentences,
And blow, with puffing breath, a struggling light,
Glimmering confusedly now, now cold in ashes;
Startle the school-boys with your metaphors;
And, if such food may suit your appetite,
Win the vain wonder of applauding children!
But never hope to stir the hearts of men,
And mould the souls of many into one,
By words which come not native from the heart!
Wagner.
Expression, graceful utterance, is the first
And best acquirement of the orator.
This do I feel, and feel my want of it!
Faustus.
Dost thou seek genuine and worthy fame?
Not as our town declaimers use, delighted,
Like a brute beast, with chimes of jingling bells;
Reason and honest feeling want no arts
Of utterance—ask no toil of elocution;
And when you speak in earnest, do you need
A search for words? Oh! these fine holyday phrases,
In which you robe your worn-out common-places,
These scraps of paper which you crimp and curl,
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These filigree ornaments are good for nothing,
Cost time and pains, please few, impose on no one;
Are unrefreshing, as the wind that whistles,
In autumn, 'mong the dry and wrinkled leaves.
Wagner.
The search of knowledge is a weary one,
And life how short! Ars longa, Vita brevis!
How often have the heart and brain, o'er-tasked,
Shrunk back despairing from enquiries vain!
Oh! with what difficulty are the means
Acquired, that lead us to the springs of knowledge!
And when the path is found, ere we have trod
Half the long way—poor wretches! we must die!
Faustus.
Are mouldy records, then, the holy springs,
Whose healing waters still the thirst within?
Oh! never yet hath mortal drunk
A draught restorative,
That welled not from the depths of his own soul!
Wagner.
Pardon me—but you will at least confess
That 'tis delightful to transfuse yourself
Into the spirit of the ages past;
To see how wise men thought in olden time,
And how far we outstep their march in knowledge.
39
Oh yes! as far as from the earth to heaven!
To us, my friend, the times that are gone by
Are a mysterious book, sealed with seven seals:
That which you call the spirit of ages past
Is but, in truth, the spirit of some few authors
In which those ages are beheld reflected,
With what distortion strange heaven only knows.
Oh! often, what a toilsome thing it is
This study of thine, at the first glance we fly it.
A mass of things confusedly heaped together;
A lumber-room of dusty documents,
Furnished with all approved court-precedents,
And old traditional maxims! History!
Facts dramatised say rather—action—plot—
Sentiment, every thing the writer's own,
As it best fits the web-work of his story,
With here and there a solitary fact
Of consequence, by those grave chroniclers,
Pointed with many a moral apophthegm,
And wise old saws, learned at the puppet-shows.
Wagner.
But then the world, man's heart and mind, are things
Of which 'twere well that each man had some knowledge.
40
Why yes!—they call it knowledge. Who may dare
To name things by their real names? The few
Who did know something, and were weak enough
To expose their hearts unguarded—to expose
Their views and feelings to the eyes of men,
They have been nailed to crosses—thrown to flames.
Pardon me; but 'tis very late, my friend;
Too late to hold this conversation longer.
Wagner.
How willingly would I sit up for ever,
Gathering instruction from your learned words!
To-morrow, as a boon on Easter-day,
You must permit me a few questions more:
I have been diligent in all my studies;
Given my whole heart and time to the pursuit;
And I know much, but would learn every thing.
[Exit.
Faustus
(alone).
How hope abandons not the meanest mind!
Poor lad! he clings to learning's poorest forms,
Delves eagerly for fancied gold to find
Worms—dust; is happy among dust and worms!
Poor lad! he clings to learning's poorest forms,
Delves eagerly for fancied gold to find
Worms—dust; is happy among dust and worms!
41
And did human accents dare
To disturb the midnight air
With their mean and worthless sound,
Here, where Spirits breathed around?
Yet, dull intruder as thou art,
I thank thee from my very heart.
When my senses sank beneath
Despair, and sought relief in death;
When life within me dying shivered,
Thy presence from the trance delivered.
Oh, while I stood before that giant stature,
How dwarfed I felt beneath its nobler nature!
To disturb the midnight air
With their mean and worthless sound,
Here, where Spirits breathed around?
Yet, dull intruder as thou art,
I thank thee from my very heart.
When my senses sank beneath
Despair, and sought relief in death;
When life within me dying shivered,
Thy presence from the trance delivered.
Oh, while I stood before that giant stature,
How dwarfed I felt beneath its nobler nature!
Image of God! I thought that I had been
Sublimed from earth, no more a child of clay,
That, shining gloriously with Heaven's own day,
I had beheld Truth's countenance serene.
High above cherubs—above all that serve,
Raised up immeasurably—every nerve
Of Nature's life seemed animate with mine;
Her very veins with blood from my veins filled—
Her spirit moving as my spirit willed;
Then did I in creations of my own
(Oh, is not man in every thing divine!)
Build worlds—or bidding them no longer be—
Exert, enjoy a sense of deity—
Doomed for such dreams presumptuous to atone;
All by one word of thunder overthrown!
Sublimed from earth, no more a child of clay,
That, shining gloriously with Heaven's own day,
I had beheld Truth's countenance serene.
High above cherubs—above all that serve,
Raised up immeasurably—every nerve
Of Nature's life seemed animate with mine;
Her very veins with blood from my veins filled—
Her spirit moving as my spirit willed;
Then did I in creations of my own
(Oh, is not man in every thing divine!)
Build worlds—or bidding them no longer be—
Exert, enjoy a sense of deity—
Doomed for such dreams presumptuous to atone;
All by one word of thunder overthrown!
42
Spirit, I may not mete myself with thee!
True, I compelled thee to appear,
But had no power to hold thee here.
Oh! at that glorious moment how I felt—
How little and how great!
Thy presence flung me shuddering back
Into man's abject state;
That inexplicable trance
Of utter, hopeless ignorance!
Who now shall teach me? what shall I avoid?
Shall I resist this impulse, or obey?
What is this life of ours? alike destroyed
By what we do or suffer!—will the day
Come never, when it is to be enjoyed?
True, I compelled thee to appear,
But had no power to hold thee here.
Oh! at that glorious moment how I felt—
How little and how great!
Thy presence flung me shuddering back
Into man's abject state;
That inexplicable trance
Of utter, hopeless ignorance!
Who now shall teach me? what shall I avoid?
Shall I resist this impulse, or obey?
What is this life of ours? alike destroyed
By what we do or suffer!—will the day
Come never, when it is to be enjoyed?
Whate'er of noblest and of best
Man's soul can reach, is clogged and prest
By low considerations that adhere
Inseparably. Oh! when we obtain
The goods of this world, soon do we restrain
Our loftier aspirations; and we call
Man's better riches a delusion vain,
The mockery of an empty vision all!
The lordly feelings given us at our birth
Are numbed—our true life dies—'mong the low cares of earth.
Man's soul can reach, is clogged and prest
By low considerations that adhere
Inseparably. Oh! when we obtain
The goods of this world, soon do we restrain
Our loftier aspirations; and we call
Man's better riches a delusion vain,
The mockery of an empty vision all!
The lordly feelings given us at our birth
Are numbed—our true life dies—'mong the low cares of earth.
43
How boldly, in the days of youthful Hope,
Imagination spreads her wing unchecked!
Deeming all things within her ample scope;
And oh, how small a space suffices her,
When Fortune flees away, vain flatterer,
And all we loved in life's strange whirl is wrecked!
Deep in the breast Care builds her nest,
And ever-torturing scares all rest:
Each day assumes some new disguise,
With some new art the temper tries,
Fretting the mind with house affairs,
Suggesting doubts of wife or heirs,
Hinting dark fancies to the soul,
Of fire and flood—of dirk and bowl.
Man trembles thus each hour at fancied crosses,
And weeps for ever at ideal losses.
Imagination spreads her wing unchecked!
Deeming all things within her ample scope;
And oh, how small a space suffices her,
When Fortune flees away, vain flatterer,
And all we loved in life's strange whirl is wrecked!
Deep in the breast Care builds her nest,
And ever-torturing scares all rest:
Each day assumes some new disguise,
With some new art the temper tries,
Fretting the mind with house affairs,
Suggesting doubts of wife or heirs,
Hinting dark fancies to the soul,
Of fire and flood—of dirk and bowl.
Man trembles thus each hour at fancied crosses,
And weeps for ever at ideal losses.
Am not I like the gods?—Alas! I tremble,
Feeling imprest upon my soul the thought
Of the mean worm, whose nature I resemble.
'Tis dust, and lives in dust, and the chance tread
Crushes the wretched reptile into nought.
Feeling imprest upon my soul the thought
Of the mean worm, whose nature I resemble.
'Tis dust, and lives in dust, and the chance tread
Crushes the wretched reptile into nought.
Is this not dust in which I live?
This prison-place, what can it give
Of life or comfort? wheresoe'er
The sick eye turns, it sees one tier—
Along the blank high wall—of shelves
And gloomy volumes, which themselves
Are dust and lumber; and the scrolls
That crowd the hundred pigeon-holes
And crevices of that old case—
That darkens and confines the space
Already but too small—'mong these
What can life be but a disease?
Here housed in dust, with grub and moth,
I sicken—mind and body both.
—Shall I find here the cure I ask,
Resume the edifying task
Of reading, in a thousand pages,
That care-worn man has, in all ages,
Sowed Vanity to reap Despair?
That one, mayhap, has here and there
Been less unhappy?
This prison-place, what can it give
Of life or comfort? wheresoe'er
The sick eye turns, it sees one tier—
44
And gloomy volumes, which themselves
Are dust and lumber; and the scrolls
That crowd the hundred pigeon-holes
And crevices of that old case—
That darkens and confines the space
Already but too small—'mong these
What can life be but a disease?
Here housed in dust, with grub and moth,
I sicken—mind and body both.
—Shall I find here the cure I ask,
Resume the edifying task
Of reading, in a thousand pages,
That care-worn man has, in all ages,
Sowed Vanity to reap Despair?
That one, mayhap, has here and there
Been less unhappy?
Hollow Skull,
I almost fancy I divine
A meaning in thy spectral smile.
Saith it not that thy brain, like mine,
Still loved, and sought the Beautiful;
Loved Truth for Truth's own sake; and sought,
Regardless of aught else the while,
Like mine, the light of cloudless day—
And, in unsatisfying thought
By twilight glimmers led astray,
Like mine at length sank over-wrought?
I almost fancy I divine
A meaning in thy spectral smile.
Saith it not that thy brain, like mine,
Still loved, and sought the Beautiful;
Loved Truth for Truth's own sake; and sought,
Regardless of aught else the while,
Like mine, the light of cloudless day—
And, in unsatisfying thought
By twilight glimmers led astray,
Like mine at length sank over-wrought?
45
Every thing fails me—every thing—
These instruments, do they not all
Mock me? lathe, cylinder, and ring,
And cog and wheel—in vain I call
On you for aid, ye keys of Science,
I stand before the guarded door
Of Nature; but it bids defiance
To latch or ward: in vain I prove
Your powers—the strong bolts will not move.
Mysterious, in the blaze of day,
Nature pursues her tranquil way:
The veil she wears, if hand profane
Should seek to raise, it seeks in vain,
Though from her spirit thine receives,
When hushed it listens and believes,
Secrets, revealed—else vainly sought,
Her free gift when man questions not,
Think not with levers or with screws
To wring them out if she refuse.
These instruments, do they not all
Mock me? lathe, cylinder, and ring,
And cog and wheel—in vain I call
On you for aid, ye keys of Science,
I stand before the guarded door
Of Nature; but it bids defiance
To latch or ward: in vain I prove
Your powers—the strong bolts will not move.
Mysterious, in the blaze of day,
Nature pursues her tranquil way:
The veil she wears, if hand profane
Should seek to raise, it seeks in vain,
Though from her spirit thine receives,
When hushed it listens and believes,
Secrets, revealed—else vainly sought,
Her free gift when man questions not,
Think not with levers or with screws
To wring them out if she refuse.
Old furniture—cumbrous and mean!
It is not, has not ever been
Of use to me—why here? because
My father's furniture it was!
—Old Roll; and here it still remains,
And soiled with smoke, its very stains
Might count how many a year the light
Hath, from this desk, through the dead night,
Burn'd in its sad lamp, nothing bright!
—'Twere better did I dissipate,
Long since, my little means, than be
Crushed down and cumbered with its weight:
All that thy fathers leave to thee,
At once ENJOY it—thus alone
Can man make any thing his own;
A hindrance all that we employ not—
A burden all that we enjoy not.
He knows, who rightly estimates,
That what the moment can employ,
What it requires and can enjoy,
The MOMENT for itself creates.
It is not, has not ever been
Of use to me—why here? because
My father's furniture it was!
—Old Roll; and here it still remains,
And soiled with smoke, its very stains
Might count how many a year the light
Hath, from this desk, through the dead night,
Burn'd in its sad lamp, nothing bright!
46
Long since, my little means, than be
Crushed down and cumbered with its weight:
All that thy fathers leave to thee,
At once ENJOY it—thus alone
Can man make any thing his own;
A hindrance all that we employ not—
A burden all that we enjoy not.
He knows, who rightly estimates,
That what the moment can employ,
What it requires and can enjoy,
The MOMENT for itself creates.
What can it be, that thither draws
The eye, and holds it there, as though
The flask a very magnet were?
And whence, oh, whence this lavish glow,
This lustre of enchanted light,
Pour'd down at once, and every where—
Birth of the moment—like the flood
Of splendour round us, when at night
Breathes moonlight over a wide wood?
The eye, and holds it there, as though
The flask a very magnet were?
And whence, oh, whence this lavish glow,
This lustre of enchanted light,
Pour'd down at once, and every where—
Birth of the moment—like the flood
Of splendour round us, when at night
Breathes moonlight over a wide wood?
Oh phial!—happy phial!—here
Hope is,—I greet thee,—I revere
Thee as Art's best result—in Thee
Science and Mind triumphant see,—
Essence of all sweet slumber-dews!
Spirit of all most delicate
Yet deadliest powers!—be thou my friend—
A true friend—thou wilt not refuse
Thy own old master this!—I gaze
On thee—the pain subsides—the weight
That pressed me down less heavy weighs.
Hope is,—I greet thee,—I revere
Thee as Art's best result—in Thee
Science and Mind triumphant see,—
Essence of all sweet slumber-dews!
Spirit of all most delicate
47
A true friend—thou wilt not refuse
Thy own old master this!—I gaze
On thee—the pain subsides—the weight
That pressed me down less heavy weighs.
I grasp thee—faithful friend art thou:—
Already do I feel the strife
That preyed upon my powers of life
Calmed into peace; and now—and now
The swell, that troubled the clear spring
Of my vext spirit, ebbs away;
Outspread, like ocean, Life and Day
Shine with a glow of welcoming;—
Calm at my feet the glorious mirror lies,
And tempts to far-off shores, with smiles from other skies!
Already do I feel the strife
That preyed upon my powers of life
Calmed into peace; and now—and now
The swell, that troubled the clear spring
Of my vext spirit, ebbs away;
Outspread, like ocean, Life and Day
Shine with a glow of welcoming;—
Calm at my feet the glorious mirror lies,
And tempts to far-off shores, with smiles from other skies!
And, lo! a car of fire to me
Glides softly hither; from within
Come winged impulses, to bear
The child of earth to freer air:
Already do I seem to win
My happy course, from bondage free,
On paths unknown, to climes unknown,
Glad spheres of pure activity!
Powers yet unfelt—worlds yet untrod—
And life, poured every where abroad,
And rapture worthy of a God!
—Worm that thou art, and can it be
Such joy is thine, is given to thee?
Determine only,—'tis thy own;
Say thy firm farewell to the sun,
The kindly sun—its smiling earth—
One moment, one,—and all is done,—
One pang—then comes the second birth!
—Find life where others fear to die;
Take measure of thy strength, and burst—
Burst wide the gate of liberty;
—Show, by man's acts man's spirit durst
Meet God's own eye, and wax not dim;
Stand fearless, face to face with Him!
Glides softly hither; from within
Come winged impulses, to bear
The child of earth to freer air:
Already do I seem to win
My happy course, from bondage free,
On paths unknown, to climes unknown,
Glad spheres of pure activity!
Powers yet unfelt—worlds yet untrod—
And life, poured every where abroad,
48
—Worm that thou art, and can it be
Such joy is thine, is given to thee?
Determine only,—'tis thy own;
Say thy firm farewell to the sun,
The kindly sun—its smiling earth—
One moment, one,—and all is done,—
One pang—then comes the second birth!
—Find life where others fear to die;
Take measure of thy strength, and burst—
Burst wide the gate of liberty;
—Show, by man's acts man's spirit durst
Meet God's own eye, and wax not dim;
Stand fearless, face to face with Him!
Shudder not now at that blank cave
Where, in self-torturing disease,
Pale Fancy hears sad Spirits rave,
And is herself the hell she sees.
—Press through the strait, where stands Despair
Guarding it, and the fiery wave
Boils up,—and know no terror there!
Determine;—be of happy cheer
In this high hour—be thy advance
The proud step of a triumph-day;
—Be firm, and cast away all fear;—
And freely,—if such be the chance—
Flow into nothingness away!
And thou, clear crystal goblet, welcome thou!
Old friend and faithful, from thy antique case
Come forth with gay smile now,
As gently I displace
The time-stain'd velvet; years unnumbered,
Forgotten hast thou slumbered;
Once bright at many a festival,
When, in the old man's hall,
Old friends were gathered all,
And thou with mirth didst light grave features up,
On days of high festivity,
And family solemnity,
As each to each passed on the happy cup;
Its massy pride, the figures rich and old,
Of curious carving, and the merry task
Of each (thus did our pleasant customs ask)
Who drank, the quaint old symbols to unfold,
In rhymes made at the moment; then the mask
Of serious seeming, as at one long draught
Each guest the full deep goblet duly quaffed;
The old cup, the old customs, the old rhymes,
All now are with me: all, that of old times
Can speak, are speaking to my heart; the nights
Of boyhood, and their manifold delights;
Oh! never more to gay friend sitting next
Shall my hand reach thee; never more from me
Shall merry rhyme illustrate the old text,
And into meaning read each mystery;
This is a draught that, if the brain still think,
Will set it thinking in another mood;
Old cup, now fill thee with the dark brown flood;
It is my choice; I mixed it, and will drink:
My last draught this on earth I dedicate,
(And with it be my heart and spirit borne!)
A festal offering to the rising morn.
Where, in self-torturing disease,
Pale Fancy hears sad Spirits rave,
And is herself the hell she sees.
—Press through the strait, where stands Despair
Guarding it, and the fiery wave
Boils up,—and know no terror there!
Determine;—be of happy cheer
In this high hour—be thy advance
The proud step of a triumph-day;
—Be firm, and cast away all fear;—
And freely,—if such be the chance—
Flow into nothingness away!
49
Old friend and faithful, from thy antique case
Come forth with gay smile now,
As gently I displace
The time-stain'd velvet; years unnumbered,
Forgotten hast thou slumbered;
Once bright at many a festival,
When, in the old man's hall,
Old friends were gathered all,
And thou with mirth didst light grave features up,
On days of high festivity,
And family solemnity,
As each to each passed on the happy cup;
Its massy pride, the figures rich and old,
Of curious carving, and the merry task
Of each (thus did our pleasant customs ask)
Who drank, the quaint old symbols to unfold,
In rhymes made at the moment; then the mask
Of serious seeming, as at one long draught
Each guest the full deep goblet duly quaffed;
The old cup, the old customs, the old rhymes,
All now are with me: all, that of old times
Can speak, are speaking to my heart; the nights
Of boyhood, and their manifold delights;
Oh! never more to gay friend sitting next
Shall my hand reach thee; never more from me
Shall merry rhyme illustrate the old text,
And into meaning read each mystery;
50
Will set it thinking in another mood;
Old cup, now fill thee with the dark brown flood;
It is my choice; I mixed it, and will drink:
My last draught this on earth I dedicate,
(And with it be my heart and spirit borne!)
A festal offering to the rising morn.
[He places the goblet to his mouth.
Bells heard, and voices in chorus.
Easter Hymn.—Chorus of Angels.
Christ is from the grave arisen,
Joy is His. For Him the weary
Earth hath ceased its thraldom dreary,
And the cares that prey on mortals:
He hath burst the grave's stern portals;
The grave is no prison:
The Lord hath arisen!
Faustus.
Oh, those deep sounds, those voices rich and heavenly!
How powerfully they sway the soul, and force
The cup uplifted from the eager lips!
Proud bells, and do your peals already ring,
To greet the joyous dawn of Easter-morn?
And ye, rejoicing choristers, already
51
That song, which once, from angel lips resounding
Around the midnight of the grave, was heard,
The pledge and proof of a new covenant!
Hymn continued.—Chorus of Women.
We laid him for burial
'Mong aloes and myrrh;
His children and friends
Laid their dead Master here!
All wrapt in his grave-dress,
We left him in fear—
Ah! where shall we seek him?
The Lord is not here!
Chorus of Angels.
The Lord hath arisen,
Sorrow no longer;
Temptation hath tried him,
But he was the stronger.
Happy, happy victory!
Love, submission, self-denial
Marked the strengthening agony,
Marked the purifying trial;
The grave is no prison:
The Lord hath arisen.
52
Soft sounds, that breathe of Heaven, most mild, most powerful,
What seek ye here?—Why will ye come to me
In dusty gloom immersed?—Oh! rather speak
To hearts of soft and penetrable mould!
I hear your message, but I have not faith—
And Miracle is Faith's beloved offspring!
I cannot force myself into the spheres,
Where these good tidings of great joy are heard;
And yet, from youth familiar with the sounds,
Even now they call me back again to life;
Oh! once, in boyhood's time, the love of Heaven
Came down upon me, with mysterious kiss
Hallowing the stillness of the Sabbath-day!
Then did the voices of these bells, melodious
Mingle with hopes and feelings mystical;
And prayer was then indeed a burning joy!
Feelings resistless, incommunicable,
Drove me, a wanderer through fields and woods;
Then tears rushed hot and fast—then was the birth
Of a new life and a new world for me;
These bells announced the merry sports of youth,
This music welcomed in the happy spring;
And now am I once more a little child,
And old Remembrance, twining round my heart,
Forbids this act, and checks my daring steps—
53
Tears come, and Earth hath won her child again.
Hymn continued.—Chorus of Disciples.
He, who was buried,
Hath burst from the grave!
From death re-assuming
The life that he gave,
Is risen in glory,
Is mighty to save!
Hath burst from the grave!
From death re-assuming
The life that he gave,
Is risen in glory,
Is mighty to save!
And onward—still onward
Arising, ascending,
To the right hand of Power
And Joy never-ending.
Arising, ascending,
To the right hand of Power
And Joy never-ending.
Enthroned in brightness,
His labours are over;
On earth his disciples
Still struggle and suffer!
His labours are over;
On earth his disciples
Still struggle and suffer!
His children deserted
Disconsolate languish—
Thou art gone, and to glory—
Hast left us in anguish!
Disconsolate languish—
Thou art gone, and to glory—
Hast left us in anguish!
54
Christ is arisen,
The Lord hath ascended;
The dominion of death
And corruption is ended.
The Lord hath ascended;
The dominion of death
And corruption is ended.
Your work of obedience
Haste to begin:
Break from the bondage
Of Satan and Sin.
Haste to begin:
Break from the bondage
Of Satan and Sin.
[Faustus]
In your lives HIS laws obey
Let love your governed bosoms sway—
Blessings to the poor convey,
To God with humble spirit pray,
To Man his benefits display:
Act thus, and he, your Master dear,
Though unseen, is ever near!
| Faustus, A Dramatic Mystery ; The Bride of Corinth ; The First Walpurgis Night | |