 | Goethe's Faust : First Part |  |
12
SCENE I.
In a high-vaulted Gothic chamber Faust sits restlessly at his desk.Faust.
I have now, alas! Philosophy,
Law's mystery, and Medicine too,
And, woe is me! Theology,
Studied devoutly through and through,
And here I am, poor baffled fool!
Wise as before I went to school;
Magister, Doctor, I'm styled forsooth,
Lead by the nose our studious youth,
Some ten years over the same old ground,
Up, down, here, there, about and around—
And see no knowledge can come of our learning!
That sears my heart with a quenchless burning,
Yet I am shrewder than all these fribblers,
Doctors, Magisters, Parsons and scribblers;
Doubts and scruples plague me but little,
For Hell and the Devil I reck not a tittle—
But then for my pains all joy is bereft me,
I dream not the knowledge of right is left me,
Dream not some doctrine I may find,
To better or to convert mankind.
Nor have I gold or land or birth,
Honour, nor lordship of the earth;
No dog such a life would longer live!
Wherefore to magic myself I give,
That I, through Spirit's voice and might,
May learn many riddles to read aright,
No longer, sweating for bitter woe,
May prate of things that I do not know,
That I the inmost forces find
Which firmly the world together bind,
All germs, all energies watch, explore,
And deal in empty words no more.
Law's mystery, and Medicine too,
And, woe is me! Theology,
Studied devoutly through and through,
And here I am, poor baffled fool!
Wise as before I went to school;
Magister, Doctor, I'm styled forsooth,
Lead by the nose our studious youth,
Some ten years over the same old ground,
Up, down, here, there, about and around—
And see no knowledge can come of our learning!
That sears my heart with a quenchless burning,
Yet I am shrewder than all these fribblers,
Doctors, Magisters, Parsons and scribblers;
Doubts and scruples plague me but little,
For Hell and the Devil I reck not a tittle—
But then for my pains all joy is bereft me,
I dream not the knowledge of right is left me,
Dream not some doctrine I may find,
To better or to convert mankind.
Nor have I gold or land or birth,
Honour, nor lordship of the earth;
No dog such a life would longer live!
Wherefore to magic myself I give,
That I, through Spirit's voice and might,
May learn many riddles to read aright,
No longer, sweating for bitter woe,
May prate of things that I do not know,
13
Which firmly the world together bind,
All germs, all energies watch, explore,
And deal in empty words no more.
Would thou didst gaze, full moon, again,
For the last time, upon my pain,
Whom I, so many a midnight drear,
O'erwatched, this desk before me here:
Then, over many a script and book,
Thou, my sad friend, didst on me look!
Ah! could I but in thy soft light
Wander upon the mountain's height,
O'er mountain caverns with spirits hover,
The meads in thy faint gleams float over,
From all the fogs of learning free,
Bathed in thy dews, be healed by thee!
For the last time, upon my pain,
Whom I, so many a midnight drear,
O'erwatched, this desk before me here:
Then, over many a script and book,
Thou, my sad friend, didst on me look!
Ah! could I but in thy soft light
Wander upon the mountain's height,
O'er mountain caverns with spirits hover,
The meads in thy faint gleams float over,
From all the fogs of learning free,
Bathed in thy dews, be healed by thee!
Ah! pens this dungeon still my soul?
Accurséd, musty, walled-in hole!
Where even the light of heaven, so dear,
Sad, through stained windows enters here.
Cramped by these books in monstrous heap,
Which bookworms gnaw, which dust defiles,
Where to the ceiling, vaulted deep,
Reams of smoked paper are stacked in piles;
With limbecs, boxes ranged around,
With instruments that serve me not,
Heirlooms, encumbering the ground—
That is thy world! what a world, God wot!
Accurséd, musty, walled-in hole!
Where even the light of heaven, so dear,
Sad, through stained windows enters here.
Cramped by these books in monstrous heap,
Which bookworms gnaw, which dust defiles,
Where to the ceiling, vaulted deep,
Reams of smoked paper are stacked in piles;
With limbecs, boxes ranged around,
With instruments that serve me not,
Heirlooms, encumbering the ground—
That is thy world! what a world, God wot!
And dost thou question why thy heart
Quakes in thee cramped with inward strife,
Why some vague sense-eluding smart
Checks all the movements of thy life?
Instead of living Nature now,
Man's home ordained in God's own plan,
Smothered in smoke and dust art thou,
With fleshless bones of beast and man.
Flee! up! away! To the wide land!
And this old Book of Mystery,
From Nostradamus's own hand,
Is it not guide enow for thee?
Then shalt thou know the stars' fixed course,
If Nature still direct thy way,
Raised by thy soul's exalted force,
Converse with spirits as spirits may.
In vain by arid thought read clear,
The sacred symbols enlighten thee:
Answer me now, if ye can hear,
Ye spirits hovering over me!
(He opens the Book, and catches sight of the symbol of the macrocosm.)
Ha! what a rapture streams at the first view
Through all my senses now, even as I gaze
That holy joy of life my youth once knew
I feel new-glowing through nerves and veinlets' maze.
Was it a God indeed who penned that sign,
The storm that raged within me stilling,
This hope-sick heart with rapture filling,
And by some strange impulse divine
The omnipresent powers of Nature now revealing?
Am I a god? All grows so clear!
In the pure scripture of the scroll
Nature's fine energies lie open to my soul.
At last I understand what spake the Seer:
“The World of Spirit is closed not to thee,
Thy sense is shut, thy heart is dead!
Up, scholar! bathe ever unwearied,
Thy breast of clay in dawnlight red!”
(He contemplates the symbol.)
How all things one great pattern weave,
Each in the other doth work and live!
How heavenly powers ascending and descending,
Pass their gold ewers through lines unending!
With blessing-breathing wings
From heaven pierce earth, while from all things
The harmony of all with all outrings!
Quakes in thee cramped with inward strife,
Why some vague sense-eluding smart
Checks all the movements of thy life?
Instead of living Nature now,
Man's home ordained in God's own plan,
Smothered in smoke and dust art thou,
With fleshless bones of beast and man.
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And this old Book of Mystery,
From Nostradamus's own hand,
Is it not guide enow for thee?
Then shalt thou know the stars' fixed course,
If Nature still direct thy way,
Raised by thy soul's exalted force,
Converse with spirits as spirits may.
In vain by arid thought read clear,
The sacred symbols enlighten thee:
Answer me now, if ye can hear,
Ye spirits hovering over me!
(He opens the Book, and catches sight of the symbol of the macrocosm.)
Ha! what a rapture streams at the first view
Through all my senses now, even as I gaze
That holy joy of life my youth once knew
I feel new-glowing through nerves and veinlets' maze.
Was it a God indeed who penned that sign,
The storm that raged within me stilling,
This hope-sick heart with rapture filling,
And by some strange impulse divine
The omnipresent powers of Nature now revealing?
Am I a god? All grows so clear!
In the pure scripture of the scroll
Nature's fine energies lie open to my soul.
At last I understand what spake the Seer:
“The World of Spirit is closed not to thee,
Thy sense is shut, thy heart is dead!
Up, scholar! bathe ever unwearied,
Thy breast of clay in dawnlight red!”
(He contemplates the symbol.)
How all things one great pattern weave,
Each in the other doth work and live!
How heavenly powers ascending and descending,
Pass their gold ewers through lines unending!
With blessing-breathing wings
15
The harmony of all with all outrings!
What vision! but alas! a vision alone
How shall I grasp thee, Nature, Infinite One!
Where are thy breasts? Life-springs that all sustain,
Whereon hang heaven, earth, stars that burn,
For which man's withering heart must yearn—
Ye flow, ye nourish, and pine I now in vain?
(He turns reluctantly to another page of the Book, and looks at the Symbol of the Earth-Spirit.)
How differently upon me works this sign!
Thou Spirit of Earth, to me art nigher,
Even now I feel my powers mount higher,
Even now I glow, as with new wine.
Courage to face the world within me glows,
Courage to bear all earthly joys and woes,
To fight the tempest when it blows,
Blench not when down the crashing vessel goes.
Clouds gather over me—
The moon conceals her light,
The lamp grows dimmer!
Mists rise!—red rays flash quivering
Around my head—there breathes
A horror from the vault above
And seizes me! I feel
Thou hoverest round me, Spirit, called by my prayer.
Reveal thyself!
Ha! how it seems my heart to tear!
With new, strange feeling
All my senses are raging and reeling.
I feel my whole heart given away to thee!
Thou must! thou must! though my life pay the fee.
How shall I grasp thee, Nature, Infinite One!
Where are thy breasts? Life-springs that all sustain,
Whereon hang heaven, earth, stars that burn,
For which man's withering heart must yearn—
Ye flow, ye nourish, and pine I now in vain?
(He turns reluctantly to another page of the Book, and looks at the Symbol of the Earth-Spirit.)
How differently upon me works this sign!
Thou Spirit of Earth, to me art nigher,
Even now I feel my powers mount higher,
Even now I glow, as with new wine.
Courage to face the world within me glows,
Courage to bear all earthly joys and woes,
To fight the tempest when it blows,
Blench not when down the crashing vessel goes.
Clouds gather over me—
The moon conceals her light,
The lamp grows dimmer!
Mists rise!—red rays flash quivering
Around my head—there breathes
A horror from the vault above
And seizes me! I feel
Thou hoverest round me, Spirit, called by my prayer.
Reveal thyself!
Ha! how it seems my heart to tear!
With new, strange feeling
All my senses are raging and reeling.
I feel my whole heart given away to thee!
Thou must! thou must! though my life pay the fee.
(He seizes the Book, and mysteriously pronounces the spell of the Earth-Spirit. A reddish flame flickers around, and the Spirit appears in the flame.)
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Who calls me?
Faust
(turning away.)
Dreadful apparition!
Spirit.
With potent summons thou drewest me here,
After long tugging at my sphere,
And now?
Faust.
I cannot bear thy vision!
Spirit.
Thou prayedst, panting, to look upon me,
My face thou wouldst gaze on, my voice thou wouldst hear,
Thy strong prayer drew me from my sphere,
I am here—what horror so piteously
Now grips thee, Overman? where is thy soul's glad cry?
That breast which framed a world within it secretly,
And bore, and fostered it, with exultation
Swelled, as 'twould match us daemons in our station?
Where art thou, Faust, whose voice to me could thrill,
Who thrust thyself on me with potent will?
Canst thou be he, who, when my breath thou feelest,
Scared to life's deeps, tremblest and reelest,
Writhing away, frightened worm!
Faust.
Yield to thee, shall I, flame-shape, in fear?
Faust am I, Faust. I am thy peer!
Spirit.
In life's wild billows, in action's storm,
Surge I like a wave,
Weave unrestingly
Birth and the grave,
An infinite sea,
A web still growing,
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At the whizzing loom of Time I ply,
And the living garment of God weave I.
Faust.
Thou who through all the wide world wendest!
Much-toiling spirit, how near I feel to thee!
Spirit.
Thou art like the spirit thou comprehendest,
Not me! (Vanishes.)
Faust
(collapsing.)
Not thee?
Whom then?
I, image of the Godhead
And not even like thee!
(Someone knocks.)
Faust.
O Death!—I know it—this is my Famulus—
He comes to ruin my fairest joy!
Oh! that this hour of fullest insight,
The dry-brained sneak should so destroy!
(Enter Wagner in dressing-gown and night-cap, a lamp in his hand. Faust turns to him in angry disgust.)
Wagner.
Pardon me, I heard your declamation;
You read, I doubt not, some Greek Tragedy?
I fain would profit by this recitation,
This art would now much profit me.
I have often heard it said a preacher
Might well accept an actor as his teacher.
Faust.
Yes, when the preacher, as at times we see,
Is a comedian, with a part to play.
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Alas! when, banished to one's library,
One sees the world but some rare holiday,
But from afar, as through a telescope,
To guide it by persuasion can he hope?
Faust.
You strive in vain, if you are void of feeling,
If from your soul all does not swell,
To the old, strong fount of joy appealing,
Your hearers' hearts you must compel.
Sit there for ever, from each full table
Steal scraps to cook your own ragôut
Blow up the flame, so miserable,
From the cold ash-heaps piled by you!
Win childrens', pedants' admiration,
If to your taste you find it so;
But heart to heart you ne'er will weld with passion,
If yours pour forth no kindling glow.
Wagner.
Delivery makes the orator's success,
I feel it, though far backward I confess.
Faust.
Let him seek honest victory!
With cap and bells play no fool's part!
Reason, good-feeling easily
Express themselves with little art;
When some grave thing you burn to say,
Must you go hunting words all day?
Yes, all your speeches brilliant of their kind,
With scraps of human relics curled and bristling,
Are unrefreshing as the foggy wind,
That in the Autumn through dry leaves goes whistling.
Wagner.
Ah God! Yes, art is long,
And short our time for living.
How often, o'er my critic labour striving
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How hard it is to acquire the means whereby
One clambers to the ancient source,
And ere half-way up one has toiled, perforce
For all his pains, must a poor devil die.
Faust.
Dry parchment, is it then the sacred spring
Wherefrom a draught stills thirst for evermoe?
Refreshment naught to thee can bring,
If from thy soul all does not flow.
Wagner.
Pardon me! It is my greatest pleasure
To breathe each age's spirit, in a measure
To see how, ere we lived, a man deemed wise has thought,
How far, splendidly far, our labours we have brought.
Faust.
Oh yes! far as the stars are high!
My friend, those times of yore so long gone by,
For us are but a book with seven seals;
And what the Spirit of the Age you call
Is but the old scribe's own spirit after all,
The mirror that his age reveals.
There oft, heart-sick, you search the gloom,
At the first glance you well might run away!
You find a dust-bin, or a lumber-room,
At best a solemn farce old courtiers play
With fine pragmatic maxims, well-befitting
The mouths of puppets through stiff poses flitting.
Wagner.
Ah! but the world! the heart and spirit of man!
'Bout these we all should gain some information.
Faust.
Yes, called so by the pedant clan!
Who dares to give the child its proper designation?
The few who have some scraps of truth discerned,
But were such fools, their full hearts not concealing,
20
Men, age by age, have crucified and burned.
Pardon me, friend, 'tis now deep in the night
We must break off our conversation.
Wagner.
Gladly I would have watched till dawned the light,
To hold with you so learn'd a disputation.
Tomorrow, though, at dawn of Easter Day,
Permit me a few more questions, pray.
With zeal I have pursued my studies here, and so
In truth know much; but all things I would know.
[Exit]
Faust
(alone.)
How soon all hope decays, save in the mind
Of one who clings to stuff dry as the sand
Will dig for treasure with a covetous hand,
Glad if a coil of earthworms he may find.
Dared such a mortal voice sound in this place,
Where spirits in full throng surrounded me?
Yet ah! this once my thanks to thee,
Most miserable of all the human race.
Thou then didst rescue me from dull despair,
Which soon had hurled my senses to perdition.
Ah! what a dwarf I felt beside Him there,
So giant-like that mighty apparition!
Of one who clings to stuff dry as the sand
Will dig for treasure with a covetous hand,
Glad if a coil of earthworms he may find.
Dared such a mortal voice sound in this place,
Where spirits in full throng surrounded me?
Yet ah! this once my thanks to thee,
Most miserable of all the human race.
Thou then didst rescue me from dull despair,
Which soon had hurled my senses to perdition.
Ah! what a dwarf I felt beside Him there,
So giant-like that mighty apparition!
I, image of the Godhead, who fain would be,
Half thought myself the glass of truth eternal,
Joyed in the glimpse of heaven's clear light supernal,
And stript off earth's mortality;
I, more than Cherub, whose power, with uncurbed sway,
I felt already through Nature's veins far-streaming;
And, to enjoy the life of gods now scheming,
Measured myself with Him; penance of dreaming!
One thunder-word hath swept me far away.
Half thought myself the glass of truth eternal,
Joyed in the glimpse of heaven's clear light supernal,
And stript off earth's mortality;
I, more than Cherub, whose power, with uncurbed sway,
I felt already through Nature's veins far-streaming;
And, to enjoy the life of gods now scheming,
Measured myself with Him; penance of dreaming!
One thunder-word hath swept me far away.
I dare no more to count myself thy peer,
I had the power to draw thee from thy sphere,
No power had I to force thee here to stay.
In that blest moment of exaltation;
I felt myself so small, so great;
Thou drov'st me in horror and consternation,
Back to mankind's uncertain state.
Who teaches me? What must I shun?
That impulse must I now obey?
Ah! like our sorrows, even the deeds that we have done
Cripple us, walking on Life's way.
21
No power had I to force thee here to stay.
In that blest moment of exaltation;
I felt myself so small, so great;
Thou drov'st me in horror and consternation,
Back to mankind's uncertain state.
Who teaches me? What must I shun?
That impulse must I now obey?
Ah! like our sorrows, even the deeds that we have done
Cripple us, walking on Life's way.
The noblest aims, our spirits' fine aspirations,
With more and more base metal are defiled;
When the world's wealth we gain with toil and patience
Things better lying dreams are styled.
Our noblest feelings, Life's own gift, grow numb,
In the world's crazy turmoil overcome.
Though once Imagination, in bold flight,
Soared to the Eternal, full of hopes that flattered,
But little room she needs, when each delight
Sinks, one, by one, in Time's great Maelstrom shattered.
Care makes her nest soon in the heart's deep core,
And secret pangs breeds evermore,
Restless she rocks herself, killing all peace and joy;
And donning still new masks breeds new annoy,
As house and home, as wife and child may she come creeping,
Fire, water, venomed blade; each shape
You tremble at, though all you scape,
And what you never lost must mourn for, vainly weeping.
With more and more base metal are defiled;
When the world's wealth we gain with toil and patience
Things better lying dreams are styled.
Our noblest feelings, Life's own gift, grow numb,
In the world's crazy turmoil overcome.
Though once Imagination, in bold flight,
Soared to the Eternal, full of hopes that flattered,
But little room she needs, when each delight
Sinks, one, by one, in Time's great Maelstrom shattered.
Care makes her nest soon in the heart's deep core,
And secret pangs breeds evermore,
Restless she rocks herself, killing all peace and joy;
And donning still new masks breeds new annoy,
As house and home, as wife and child may she come creeping,
Fire, water, venomed blade; each shape
You tremble at, though all you scape,
And what you never lost must mourn for, vainly weeping.
I am no mate for gods! that feeling thrills too deep;
I am like the worm, framed through the dust to creep,
That, as for food it fain must grub and root,
Is crushed and buried by some passer's foot.
I am like the worm, framed through the dust to creep,
That, as for food it fain must grub and root,
Is crushed and buried by some passer's foot.
Is it not dust that in this high-built wall
With hundred shelves, narrows my sphere,
These thousand trifles, useless lumber all,
In this moth-world cramping me here?
Shall I find here what most I need?
Read in the thousand volumes on my shelves
How one man, here and there, was happy indeed,
And everywhere mankind have plagued themselves?
Why dost thou grin so, hollow skull, at me?
As though, like mine, seeking the light of day,
Thy brain grew crazy, when dull twilight fell on thee,
And, craving truth, miserably went astray!
Ye instruments, surely ye mock at me,
With wheel and cog, with bow and cylinder.
Before the door I stood, deemed each a key;
But your key-bits are bent, the bolt ye cannot stir.
In day's clear light, a mystery still,
Nature lets no man of her veil bereave her,
And what to thine own soul she deigns not to reveal,
Ne'er shalt thou force from her, by help of screw or lever.
Old household furniture I never used
There still stand'st thou, because my sire did use thee,
Thou ancient scroll, thou wilt be with smoke suffused
As long as on this desk the dim lamp's reek suffuse thee.
Far better had I but my little spent and sped,
Than burdened by that little sweat here 'neath its oppression,
What from thy sires thou hast inherited
Earn, and so make thy own possession.
What is not used becomes a load of lead,
Each moment can but use tools of its own creation.
With hundred shelves, narrows my sphere,
These thousand trifles, useless lumber all,
22
Shall I find here what most I need?
Read in the thousand volumes on my shelves
How one man, here and there, was happy indeed,
And everywhere mankind have plagued themselves?
Why dost thou grin so, hollow skull, at me?
As though, like mine, seeking the light of day,
Thy brain grew crazy, when dull twilight fell on thee,
And, craving truth, miserably went astray!
Ye instruments, surely ye mock at me,
With wheel and cog, with bow and cylinder.
Before the door I stood, deemed each a key;
But your key-bits are bent, the bolt ye cannot stir.
In day's clear light, a mystery still,
Nature lets no man of her veil bereave her,
And what to thine own soul she deigns not to reveal,
Ne'er shalt thou force from her, by help of screw or lever.
Old household furniture I never used
There still stand'st thou, because my sire did use thee,
Thou ancient scroll, thou wilt be with smoke suffused
As long as on this desk the dim lamp's reek suffuse thee.
Far better had I but my little spent and sped,
Than burdened by that little sweat here 'neath its oppression,
What from thy sires thou hast inherited
Earn, and so make thy own possession.
What is not used becomes a load of lead,
Each moment can but use tools of its own creation.
But wherefore do I still fix on that spot my sight?
Is yon small phial there a magnet for mine eye?
Why all at once this clear serenity,
As when in some dark wood the moon bathes us in light?
Is yon small phial there a magnet for mine eye?
Why all at once this clear serenity,
As when in some dark wood the moon bathes us in light?
I greet thee well, phial of phials, and hence
I take thee down with care and reverence!
In thee I honour man's mother-wit and art,
Thou essence of all suave and drowsy juices,
Extract of subtlest powers Death gently uses,
Grant now thy master grace to play his part!
Looking on thee, I feel my pain appeasèd,
I grasp thee, and my strife of soul is easèd.
Gently my spirit's flood now ebbs away,
The mirroring tide shimmers about my feet,
I am lured to strange new shores by a new day.
I take thee down with care and reverence!
In thee I honour man's mother-wit and art,
Thou essence of all suave and drowsy juices,
23
Grant now thy master grace to play his part!
Looking on thee, I feel my pain appeasèd,
I grasp thee, and my strife of soul is easèd.
Gently my spirit's flood now ebbs away,
The mirroring tide shimmers about my feet,
I am lured to strange new shores by a new day.
A fiery chariot hovers on light pinions
Tow'rd me! I feel ready to steer
On my new path, through ether's vast dominions,
To new activity in some purer sphere.
This higher life, this rapture so divine!
Thou, worm but now, meritest thou this grace?
Yes, from the kind sun of this earth of thine,
With resolution turn thy face!
Dare but to burst that gloomy portal,
Which everyone would willingly slink by!
'Tis time to prove by deeds that a mere mortal
Pales not on godlike heights, but keeps his dignity,
Before yon gloomy cave can tremble not,
Where fancy damns each soul to its own pain,
Can strive even tow'rd its throat, whence, hot
Around its narrow mouth, all hell flames up amain;
Serenely dare to take that step naytheless
Wer't even a perilous plunge into mere nothingness.
Tow'rd me! I feel ready to steer
On my new path, through ether's vast dominions,
To new activity in some purer sphere.
This higher life, this rapture so divine!
Thou, worm but now, meritest thou this grace?
Yes, from the kind sun of this earth of thine,
With resolution turn thy face!
Dare but to burst that gloomy portal,
Which everyone would willingly slink by!
'Tis time to prove by deeds that a mere mortal
Pales not on godlike heights, but keeps his dignity,
Before yon gloomy cave can tremble not,
Where fancy damns each soul to its own pain,
Can strive even tow'rd its throat, whence, hot
Around its narrow mouth, all hell flames up amain;
Serenely dare to take that step naytheless
Wer't even a perilous plunge into mere nothingness.
Now come thou down, thou pure crystalline cup,
Out of thine ancient case, where, long stored up,
I have not thought of thee this many a year!
At my forefathers' feasts oft didst thou shine,
Enlivening the grave guests with wine,
As each to his next neighbour passed thee on,
To the rich art of pictures, many a one,
Each toper must pay tribute, in rhyme explaining
Their merit, at one draught his bumper draining.
Thou mindest me of many a night of Youth;
I will not pass thee now to any neighbour,
Nor o'er thine artistry to shew my wit now labour;
Here is a juice that soon makes drunk, in sooth.
With its brown tide in flood, it fills thy bowl,
This I prepared, choose at Life's goal,
My last draught be it now with all my soul
A festal greeting pledged to Morn's glad youth!
Out of thine ancient case, where, long stored up,
I have not thought of thee this many a year!
At my forefathers' feasts oft didst thou shine,
Enlivening the grave guests with wine,
As each to his next neighbour passed thee on,
To the rich art of pictures, many a one,
Each toper must pay tribute, in rhyme explaining
Their merit, at one draught his bumper draining.
Thou mindest me of many a night of Youth;
I will not pass thee now to any neighbour,
Nor o'er thine artistry to shew my wit now labour;
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With its brown tide in flood, it fills thy bowl,
This I prepared, choose at Life's goal,
My last draught be it now with all my soul
A festal greeting pledged to Morn's glad youth!
(He raises the cup to his lips.)
Peal of bells and Choral Song.
Choir of Angels.
Christ is arisen!
Joy to each mortal
O'er whom at Life's portal
Creeps his corruptible
Heirloom destructible,
Burst is his prison.
Faust.
What deep-toned boom, what sound so sweet and clear
Plucks from my lips the glass, with gentle power?
Do ye, deep bells, announce unto me here
The Easter festival's first sacred hour?
Ye choirs, chant ye even now the comfortable song
That once through the grave's night rang from the Angel's tongue,
Pledge of new covenant, promised long?
Choir of Women.
With spices holy
Embalmed Him we have,
True friends yet lowly,
We laid Him in the grave;
In pure white linen
Did we Him wind,
Alas! The Christ here
No more we find.
Choir of Angels.
Christ is arisen!
Blest be the loving,
Who sorrows enduring,
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Went glad to their proving
By torment and prison.
Faust.
Ye heavenly sounds, why do ye seek,
With mild constraint, me in the dust?
Go wandering, singing still, where men are weak,
I hear your message well, but have not faith to trust;
Miracle is Faith's best beloved child.
To those high spheres I have no will to strive,
From whence it sounds, that message mild;
And yet from childhood's days accustomed to that sound,
Even now it calls me back, and bids me live.
Ah! once Heaven's love fell on me like a kiss
Upon my brow, in solemn Sabbath stillness,
When rang so bodefully the pealing bell-tone's fullness,
And then a prayer to me was fervent bliss;
Mysterious longing, sweet ecstasies,
Drove me through wood and mead alone to thee;
While thousand tears burned in mine eyes
I felt a world arise in me.
Youth's merry games that strain heralded blithely pealing,
Spring's festival of careless glee;
Memory now holds me back, with the old childlike feeling,
From the last step's grim agony.
Oh! ring ye out, each sweet and heavenly strain,
My tears gush forth. Thou hast me, Earth, again!
Choir of Disciples.
Living and glorified,
From the grave's prison,
He who lay buried here
Now is arisen;
Lo! in Transfigurement
Tastes He Creation's bliss;
Ah! o'er Earth's bosom bent,
Grieve we in loneliness.
We, His own sheep here,
Pine, left by Him we miss;
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Master, Thy bliss?
Choir of Angels.
Christ is arisen
Out of corruption's womb!
Break the bonds of your prison
Rejoice o'er the tomb!
Praise ye Him deedfully,
Show your love's loyalty
Feast ye fraternally,
Preaching o'er land and sea,
Promising bliss to ye,
Still is your Master near,
Dwells with you here!
| Goethe's Faust : First Part | |