 | Faust |  |
SCENE III.
Faust, alone.FAUST.
Strange how his pate alone Hope never leaves,
Who still to shallow husks of learning cleaves!
With greedy hand, who digs for hidden treasure,
And, when he finds a grub, rejoiceth above measure!
Who still to shallow husks of learning cleaves!
With greedy hand, who digs for hidden treasure,
And, when he finds a grub, rejoiceth above measure!
Durst such a voice of mortal man resound
Where compassed me the spirit-world around?
Yet for this time, my thanks to thee,
Thou meanest of earth's progeny!
From desperation's might thou hast reliev'd me,
That of my senses had well nigh bereav'd me.
Alas! so giant-great the vision came,
That I might feel me dwarf, ev'n as I am.
Where compassed me the spirit-world around?
Yet for this time, my thanks to thee,
Thou meanest of earth's progeny!
From desperation's might thou hast reliev'd me,
That of my senses had well nigh bereav'd me.
Alas! so giant-great the vision came,
That I might feel me dwarf, ev'n as I am.
24
I, God's own image that already deemed
Me near, where Truth's eternal mirror gleamed,
And, casting this vile skin of mortal clay,
Enjoyed myself, in bright celestial day;
I, more than with a cherub's glory crown'd,
That almost seem'd through Nature's veins to flow,
And with creative power the life to know
Of gods—how is my heart's pride now laid low!
One word of thunder struck me to the ground.
Me near, where Truth's eternal mirror gleamed,
And, casting this vile skin of mortal clay,
Enjoyed myself, in bright celestial day;
I, more than with a cherub's glory crown'd,
That almost seem'd through Nature's veins to flow,
And with creative power the life to know
Of gods—how is my heart's pride now laid low!
One word of thunder struck me to the ground.
In vain! in vain! I strive to reach the sphere
Of spirit-natures; though I have the power
To make them at my mighty spell appear,
Yet to enforce their stay I have no power.
My raptur'd soul, in that blest moment's trance,
I felt so little and so great at once;
But frowningly thou drov'st me then
Back to the uncertain lot of men.
Where find I aid? what shun, and what pursue?
Shall I that impulse of my soul obey?
Alas! not sufferings only, but our actions too,
Are clogs and bars in the free spirit's way!
Of spirit-natures; though I have the power
To make them at my mighty spell appear,
Yet to enforce their stay I have no power.
My raptur'd soul, in that blest moment's trance,
I felt so little and so great at once;
But frowningly thou drov'st me then
Back to the uncertain lot of men.
Where find I aid? what shun, and what pursue?
Shall I that impulse of my soul obey?
Alas! not sufferings only, but our actions too,
Are clogs and bars in the free spirit's way!
To the pure essence of the human mind
Still foreign matter from without is joined;
Soon as the good things of this world we gain,
We deem the better part illusion vain;
And noblest feelings, connate with our birth,
Are chilled in the wild tumult of the earth.
Still foreign matter from without is joined;
Soon as the good things of this world we gain,
We deem the better part illusion vain;
And noblest feelings, connate with our birth,
Are chilled in the wild tumult of the earth.
Young fancy, that once soared, with flight sublime,
On wings of hope, ev'n to th'Eternal's throne,
Is now content a little space to own,
When in the mighty whirlpool-stream of time
Our scanty pleasures perish one by one.
Care nestles soon in every heart,
And, nourishing the secret smart,
There rocks her to and fro, and peace and joy are gone.
What though new tempting shapes she still employ,
Estate, mayhap, or house with its annoy,
As wife and child appear she, water, flame,
Dagger or poison, she is still the same;
And still we fear for that which happens never,
And what we lose not are bewailing ever.
On wings of hope, ev'n to th'Eternal's throne,
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When in the mighty whirlpool-stream of time
Our scanty pleasures perish one by one.
Care nestles soon in every heart,
And, nourishing the secret smart,
There rocks her to and fro, and peace and joy are gone.
What though new tempting shapes she still employ,
Estate, mayhap, or house with its annoy,
As wife and child appear she, water, flame,
Dagger or poison, she is still the same;
And still we fear for that which happens never,
And what we lose not are bewailing ever.
Alas! alas! too deep 'tis felt! too deep!
With gods may vie no son of mortal clay;
More am I like to slimy worms that creep
And dig, and dig, through earth their murky way,
Which, while they crawl, and feed upon the dust,
By passing wanderer's tread to death are crushed!
With gods may vie no son of mortal clay;
More am I like to slimy worms that creep
And dig, and dig, through earth their murky way,
Which, while they crawl, and feed upon the dust,
By passing wanderer's tread to death are crushed!
Is it not dust, what this old gothic wall
From all its musty benches shews me?
And dust the trifling trumperies all
That in this world of moths enclose me?
Here is it that I hope to find
Wherewith to sate my craving mind?
Need I peruse page upon page,
To know that men, in every age,
Tormented have themselves in vain,
With fruitless labour of the brain,
And here and there, with centuries between,
One happy man belike hath been?
What would thy grinning say, if thou could'st speak,
Thou hollow skull, save that thy brain, like mine,
The light of day once wretchedly did seek,
Through heavy glimmerings of the twilight-shine?
Ye instruments, in sooth, now laugh at me,
With wheel and cog-wheel, ring, and cylinder;
At Nature's door, ye should have been the key,
But though your ward be good, the bolt ye cannot stir.
Mysterious Nature may not choose
That man should draw her sacred veil aside,
And what she from the spirit's eye doth hide,
In vain thou seek'st to force with levers and with screws.
Thou antique furniture, why keep I thee,
Save that thou camest from my sire to me?
Thou parchment-scroll, thou hast been smok'd upon
Long as around this desk the sorry lamp-light shone;
Much better had I spent my little gear,
Than with this little burdened here to sweat!
Why of my father's substance am I heir
But for my pleasure to dispose of it?
That which we do not use, a heavy burden lies;
We use it best as the fleet moment flies.
From all its musty benches shews me?
And dust the trifling trumperies all
That in this world of moths enclose me?
Here is it that I hope to find
Wherewith to sate my craving mind?
Need I peruse page upon page,
To know that men, in every age,
Tormented have themselves in vain,
With fruitless labour of the brain,
And here and there, with centuries between,
One happy man belike hath been?
26
Thou hollow skull, save that thy brain, like mine,
The light of day once wretchedly did seek,
Through heavy glimmerings of the twilight-shine?
Ye instruments, in sooth, now laugh at me,
With wheel and cog-wheel, ring, and cylinder;
At Nature's door, ye should have been the key,
But though your ward be good, the bolt ye cannot stir.
Mysterious Nature may not choose
That man should draw her sacred veil aside,
And what she from the spirit's eye doth hide,
In vain thou seek'st to force with levers and with screws.
Thou antique furniture, why keep I thee,
Save that thou camest from my sire to me?
Thou parchment-scroll, thou hast been smok'd upon
Long as around this desk the sorry lamp-light shone;
Much better had I spent my little gear,
Than with this little burdened here to sweat!
Why of my father's substance am I heir
But for my pleasure to dispose of it?
That which we do not use, a heavy burden lies;
We use it best as the fleet moment flies.
But wherefore does that flask a magnet prove
To draw to that one spot my fixed eyes?
And why does sudden light within me rise
As the moon gleams through the dark midnight grove?
I greet thee, matchless phial! thee no more
Shall musty shelves, a useless lumber, keep;
I take thee down, with a devotion deep,
And in thy potent juice do I adore
The height of human wit, and human skill.
Thou essence of the opiate dew of sleep,
Thou extract of all subtle powers that kill,
Be mine the first fruits of thy strength to reap!
I look on thee, and soothed is my heart's pain;
I grasp thee, straight is lulled my racking brain,
And wave by wave my soul's flood ebbs away.
I see the ocean wide before me rise,
And at my feet her sparkling mirror lies;
To brighter shores invites a brighter day.
To draw to that one spot my fixed eyes?
And why does sudden light within me rise
As the moon gleams through the dark midnight grove?
I greet thee, matchless phial! thee no more
Shall musty shelves, a useless lumber, keep;
I take thee down, with a devotion deep,
And in thy potent juice do I adore
The height of human wit, and human skill.
27
Thou extract of all subtle powers that kill,
Be mine the first fruits of thy strength to reap!
I look on thee, and soothed is my heart's pain;
I grasp thee, straight is lulled my racking brain,
And wave by wave my soul's flood ebbs away.
I see the ocean wide before me rise,
And at my feet her sparkling mirror lies;
To brighter shores invites a brighter day.
A car of fire is hovering o'er my head,
Descending lightly! let me mount on high,
Through ether let my winged steps be sped
Unto new spheres of pure activity.
Such life of gods, such heavenly ecstasy,
May'st thou, so late a worm, hope to receive?
Yes! let but my unflinching purpose be
This earth, and the blest light of day to leave,
And open break the portals, which by most
With fear, that fain would pass them by, are crost.
This is the time by deeds, not words, to prove
That earth-born man yields not to gods above.
Before that gloomy cavern not to tremble,
Where all those spectral shapes of dread assemble,
Which Fancy, slave of every childish fear,
Bids, to be torment of herself, appear,
Forwards to strive unto that passage dire,
Whose narrow mouth seems fenced with hell's collected fire;
Such fearless step to take with glad resolve,
Ev'n though the soul to nothing should dissolve.
Now come thou down! thou crystal goblet clear,
From out thy venerable case,
Where thou hast lain unused for many a year.
In days of yore, right gaily didst thou grace
The merry banquets of my sires,
When circled round in thee the draught that glee inspires.
Thy goodly round, the figures pictured there
So quaint, the drinker's duty to declare
In ready rhyme what meaning they might bear,
And at one draught to empty out the cup,
Bring to my memory many a youthful night.
Now to no comrade shall I yield thee up,
Nor whet my wit upon thy pictures bright;
Here is a juice that drunken makes the soul
For ever. With brown flood it fills the bowl.
Let this last draught, the draught of mine own choice,
With cheerful heart be quaffed, and cheerful voice
A solemn greeting to the rising morn!
Descending lightly! let me mount on high,
Through ether let my winged steps be sped
Unto new spheres of pure activity.
Such life of gods, such heavenly ecstasy,
May'st thou, so late a worm, hope to receive?
Yes! let but my unflinching purpose be
This earth, and the blest light of day to leave,
And open break the portals, which by most
With fear, that fain would pass them by, are crost.
This is the time by deeds, not words, to prove
That earth-born man yields not to gods above.
Before that gloomy cavern not to tremble,
Where all those spectral shapes of dread assemble,
Which Fancy, slave of every childish fear,
Bids, to be torment of herself, appear,
Forwards to strive unto that passage dire,
Whose narrow mouth seems fenced with hell's collected fire;
Such fearless step to take with glad resolve,
Ev'n though the soul to nothing should dissolve.
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From out thy venerable case,
Where thou hast lain unused for many a year.
In days of yore, right gaily didst thou grace
The merry banquets of my sires,
When circled round in thee the draught that glee inspires.
Thy goodly round, the figures pictured there
So quaint, the drinker's duty to declare
In ready rhyme what meaning they might bear,
And at one draught to empty out the cup,
Bring to my memory many a youthful night.
Now to no comrade shall I yield thee up,
Nor whet my wit upon thy pictures bright;
Here is a juice that drunken makes the soul
For ever. With brown flood it fills the bowl.
Let this last draught, the draught of mine own choice,
With cheerful heart be quaffed, and cheerful voice
A solemn greeting to the rising morn!
(He brings the cup to his lips.)
A sound of bells is heard, and distant quire-singing.
QUIRE OF ANGELS.
Christ is arisen!
Joy be to mortal man,
Whom, since the world began,
Evils inherited,
By his sins merited,
Through his veins creeping,
Sin-bound are keeping.
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What murmurs deep, what notes, so clear and pure,
Draw from my lips the glass by force away?
Thus early do the bells their homage pay,
Of hollow music, to new Easter day!
Already sing the quires the soothing song
That erst, round the dark grave, an angel throng
Sung, to proclaim the great salvation sure!
QUIRE OF WOMEN.
With clothes of fine linen
All cleanly we swathed him;
With spices and balsams
All sweetly we bathed him;
In the tomb of the rock, where
His body was lain,
We come and we seek him,
But seek all in vain!
QUIRE OF ANGELS.
Christ is arisen!
Praised be his name!
His love shared our prison
Of sin and of shame.
He has borne the hard trial
Of self-denial,
And, victorious, ascends to the skies whence he came!
FAUST.
What seek ye here, ye gently powerful tones,
Sweet seraph-music mid a mortal's groans?
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I hear the message, but cannot believe;
For Faith's first-born, and best-loved child is still,
And still will be, a miracle.
To those bright spheres I may not dare to strive
From which the holy message doth resound;
Yet, fraught with memory of my youth, this sound
Hath power to warn from death, and bid me live.
A time there was when Heaven's very kiss,
On solemn Sabbath, seemed to fall on me,
When spoke the minster-bell devotion's bliss,
And prayer to God was burning ecstasy.
A holy dim unknown desire
Drove me, o'er hill and dale, away from men,
And, mid a thousand tears of fire,
I felt a world arise within me then.
This song proclaimed the sports of youth so gay,
And merry-makings when the spring began;
Now Memory holds my soul with potent sway,
And thoughts of childhood rule the full-grown man.
Oh! sound thou on, thou sweet celestial strain,
The tear doth gush, Earth claims her truant son again!
QUIRE OF THE DISCIPLES.
By death of sorrow, though
Laid in the lowly grave,
Soars he sublimely now
Whence he us came to save.
Proudly exalted He,
Bliss of his Father near;
On the earth's bosom we,
Burden'd are waiting here:
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Toiling through earth's annoy,
Weeping to envy thee,
Master, thy joy!
QUIRE OF ANGELS.
Christ is arisen
From the corrupting clay
Break ye your fetters,
Joyful, away!
Praising, by deeds of love,
Him who now reigns above,
Feeding the brethren poor,
Preaching salvation sure,
Joys that shall aye endure,
Boldly withouten fear,
For He is near.
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