Appeal to Heaven against thee; so that Heaven

May scatter thy delusions, and the blot Upon my fame vanish in idle thought, Even as flame dies in the envious air, And as the floweret wanes at morning frost,

And thou shouldst never- But, alas! to whom

Do I still speak?-Did not a man but now
Stand here before me ?-No, I am alone,
And yet I saw him. Is he gone so
quickly?

Or can the heated mind engender shapes
From its own fear? Some terrible and
strange
Peril is near.
Livia!-

Lisander! father! lord!

Lisander.

No, Lady.

Justina. I saw him.

'Tis impossible; the

doors

SCENES FROM THE FAUST

OF GOETHE

Which led to this apartment were all

locked.

con whom she saw,

For he was locked up in my room.

The LORD and the Host of Heaven. Enter three Archangels.

Raphael.

THE sun makes music as of old
Amid the rival spheres of Heaven,
On its predestined circle rolled

With thunder speed: the Angels even Draw strength from gazing on its glance, Though none its meaning fathom

may:

The world's unwithered countenance Is bright as at creation's day.

Gabriel.

And swift and swift, with rapid lightness, The adorned Earth spins silently, Alternating Elysian brightness

With deep and dreadful night; the sea Foams in broad billows from the deep

Up to the rocks, and rocks and ocean, Onward, with spheres which never sleep, Are hurried in eternal motion.

Michael.

And tempests in contention roar
From land to sea, from sea to land;
And, raging, weave a chain of power,
Which girds the earth, as with a
band.-

A flashing desolation there,

Flames before the thunder's way; But thy servants, Lord, revere

The gentle changes of thy day.

Chorus of the Three. The Angels draw strength from thy glance,

Though no one comprehend thee

may;

Thy world's unwithered countenance
Is bright as on creation's day.1

Enter MEPHIstopheles. Mephistopheles. As thou, O Lord, once more art kind enough To interest thyself in our affairsAnd ask, "How goes it with you there below?"

And as indulgently at other times

1 Raphael. The sun sounds, according to ancient custom,

In the song of emulation of his brother-spheres. And its fore-written circle

Fulfils with a step of thunder.

Its countenance gives the Angels strength
Though no one can fathom it.

The incredible high works

Are excellent as at the first day.

Gabriel. And swift, and inconceivably swift The adornment of earth winds itself round, And exchanges Paradise-clearness

With deep dreadful night.

The sea foams in broad waves

From its deep bottom, up to the rocks,
And rocks and sea are torn on together
In the eternal swift course of the spheres.
Michael. And storms roar in emulation
From sea to land, from land to sea,

My pathos certainly would make you laugh too,

Had you not long since given over laughing.

Nothing know I to say of suns and worlds;

I observe only how men plague themselves ;

The

little god o' the world keeps the same stamp,

As wonderful as on creation's day :A little better would he live, hadst thou Not given him a glimpse of Heaven's Which he calls reason, and employs it light only

To live more beastlily than any beast. With reverence to your Lordship be it spoken,

He's like one of those long-legged grasshoppers,

Who flits and jumps about, and sings for ever

The same old song i' the grass. There let him lie,

Burying his nose in every heap of dung. The Lord. Have you no more to say? Do you come here

And make, raging, a chain
Of deepest operation round about.
There flames a flashing destruction
Before the path of the thunderbolt.
But thy servants, Lord, revere
The gentle alternations of thy day.

Chorus. Thy countenance gives the Angels strength,

Though none can comprehend thee:
And all thy lofty works

Are excellent as at the first day.

Such is a literal translation of this astonishing chorus; it is impossible to represent in another language the melody of the versification; even the volatile strength and delicacy of the ideas escape in the crucible of translation, and the reader is surprised to find a caput mortuum.

plain?

Seems nothing ever right to you on

earth?

Mephistopheles. No, Lord! I find all there, as ever, bad at best. Even I am sorry for man's days of

sorrow;

for me,

And the fool's meat and drink are not of earth.

His aspirations bear him on so far
That he is half aware of his own folly,
For he demands from Heaven its fairest
star,

And from the earth the highest joy it
bears,
Yet all things far, and all things near,
are vain

To calm the deep emotions of his breast. The Lord. Though he now serves me in a cloud of error,

I will soon lead him forth to the clear day.

When trees look green full well the gardener knows That fruits and blooms will deck the coming year. Mephistopheles. What will you bet? -now I am sure of winningOnly, observe you give me full per

longings,

Is well aware of the right way.

active spirit of man soon sleeps, and soon

He seeks unbroken quiet; therefore I Have given him the Devil for a companion,

Who may provoke him to some sort of work,

And must create for ever.-But ye, pure Children of God, enjoy eternal beauty;Let that which ever operates and lives Clasp you within the limits of its love; And seize with sweet and melancholy thoughts

The floating phantoms of its loveliness. [Heaven closes; the Archangels excunt.

Finds a voice in this blithe strain, Which wakens hill and wood and rill, And vibrates far o'er field and vale, And which Echo, like the tale

Of old times, repeats again.

To-whoo! to-whoo! near, nearer now
The sound of song, the rushing throng!
Are the screech, the lapwing, and the jay,
All awake as if 'twere day?

See, with long legs and belly wide,
A salamander in the brake!
Every root is like a snake,
And along the loose hillside,
With strange contortions through the
night,

Curls, to seize or to affright;

And, animated, strong, and many,
They dart forth polypus-antennæ,
To blister with their poison spume
The wanderer. Through the dazzling
gloom

The many-coloured mice, that thread
The dewy turf beneath our tread,
In troops each other's motions cross,
Through the heath and through the

moss;

And, in legions intertangled, The fire-flies flit, and swarm, and throng,

Till all the mountain depths are spangled.

Tell me, shall we go or stay?

Shall we onward? Come along! Everything around is swept Forward, onward, far away! Trees and masses intercept The sight, and wisps on every side Are puffed up and multiplied. Mephistopheles. Now vigorously seize my skirt, and gain

This pinnacle of isolated crag.

One may observe with wonder from this point,