Faust Part 13

I use no lengthened invocation: Here rustles one that soon will work my liberation.

The lord of rats and eke of mice, Of flies and bed-bugs, frogs and lice, Summons thee hither to the door-sill, To gnaw it where, with just a morsel Of oil, he paints the spot for thee:- There com'st thou, hopping on to me!

To work, at once! The point which made me craven Is forward, on the ledge, engraven.

Another bite makes free the door: So, dream thy dreams, O Faust, until we meet once more!

FAUST (awaking)

Am I again so foully cheated?

Remains there naught of lofty spirit-sway, But that a dream the Devil counterfeited, And that a poodle ran away?

IV

THE STUDY

FAUST MEPHISTOPHELES

FAUST

A knock? Come in! Again my quiet broken?

MEPHISTOPHELES

'Tis I!

FAUST

Come in!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Thrice must the words be spoken.

FAUST

Come in, then!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Thus thou pleasest me.

I hope we'll suit each other well; For now, thy vapors to dispel, I come, a squire of high degree, In scarlet coat, with golden tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, A cloak in silken l.u.s.tre swimming, A tall c.o.c.k's-feather in my hat, A long, sharp sword for show or quarrel,- And I advise thee, brief and flat, To don the self-same gay apparel, That, from this den released, and free, Life be at last revealed to thee!

FAUST

This life of earth, whatever my attire, Would pain me in its wonted fas.h.i.+on.

Too old am I to play with pa.s.sion; Too young, to be without desire.

What from the world have I to gain?

Thou shalt abstain-renounce-refrain!

Such is the everlasting song That in the ears of all men rings,- That unrelieved, our whole life long, Each hour, in pa.s.sing, hoa.r.s.ely sings.

In very terror I at morn awake, Upon the verge of bitter weeping, To see the day of disappointment break, To no one hope of mine-not one-its promise keeping:- That even each joy's presentiment With wilful cavil would diminish, With grinning masks of life prevent My mind its fairest work to finis.h.!.+

Then, too, when night descends, how anxiously Upon my couch of sleep I lay me: There, also, comes no rest to me, But some wild dream is sent to fray me.

The G.o.d that in my breast is owned Can deeply stir the inner sources; The G.o.d, above my powers enthroned, He cannot change external forces.

So, by the burden of my days oppressed, Death is desired, and Life a thing unblest!

MEPHISTOPHELES

And yet is never Death a wholly welcome guest.

FAUST

O fortunate, for whom, when victory glances, The b.l.o.o.d.y laurels on the brow he bindeth!

Whom, after rapid, maddening dances, In clasping maiden-arms he findeth!

O would that I, before that spirit-power, Ravished and rapt from life, had sunken!

MEPHISTOPHELES

And yet, by some one, in that nightly hour, A certain liquid was not drunken.

FAUST

Eavesdropping, ha! thy pleasure seems to be.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Omniscient am I not; yet much is known to me.

FAUST

Though some familiar tone, retrieving My thoughts from torment, led me on, And sweet, clear echoes came, deceiving A faith bequeathed from Childhood's dawn, Yet now I curse whate'er entices And snares the soul with visions vain; With dazzling cheats and dear devices Confines it in this cave of pain!

Cursed be, at once, the high ambition Wherewith the mind itself deludes!

Cursed be the glare of apparition That on the finer sense intrudes!

Cursed be the lying dream's impression Of name, and fame, and laurelled brow!

Cursed, all that flatters as possession, As wife and child, as knave and plow!

Cursed Mammon be, when he with treasures To restless action spurs our fate!

Cursed when, for soft, indulgent leisures, He lays for us the pillows straight!

Cursed be the vine's transcendent nectar,- The highest favor Love lets fall!

Cursed, also, Hope!-cursed Faith, the spectre!

And cursed be Patience most of all!

CHORUS OF SPIRITS (invisible)

Woe! woe!

Thou hast it destroyed, The beautiful world, With powerful fist: In ruin 'tis hurled, By the blow of a demiG.o.d shattered!

The scattered Fragments into the Void we carry, Deploring The beauty perished beyond restoring.

Mightier For the children of men, Brightlier Build it again, In thine own bosom build it anew!