Part 64

They turn their faces, The glorified, from thee: The pure, their hands to offer, Shuddering, refuse thee! Woe!

CHORUS

Quid sum miser tune dicturus?

MARGARET

Neighbor! your cordial! (She falls in a swoon.)

XXI

WALPURGIS-NIGHT

THE HARTZ MOUNTAINS.

District of Schierke and Elend.

FAUST MEPHISTOPHELES

MEPHISTOPHELES

DOST thou not wish a broomstick-steed’s assistance? The sturdiest he-goat I would gladly see: The way we take, our goal is yet some distance.

FAUST

So long as in my legs I feel the fresh existence. This knotted staff suffices me. What need to shorten so the way? Along this labyrinth of vales to wander, Then climb the rocky ramparts yonder, Wherefrom the fountain flings eternal spray, Is such delight, my steps would fain delay. The spring-time stirs within the fragrant birches, And even the fir-tree feels it now: Should then our limbs escape its gentle searches?

MEPHISTOPHELES

I notice no such thing, I vow! ’Tis winter still within my body: Upon my path I wish for frost and snow. How sadly rises, incomplete and ruddy, The moon’s lone disk, with its belated glow, And lights so dimly, that, as one advances, At every step one strikes a rock or tree! Let us, then, use a Jack-o’-lantern’s glances: I see one yonder, burning merrily. Ho, there! my friend! I’ll levy thine attendance: Why waste so vainly thy resplendence? Be kind enough to light us up the steep!

WILL-O’-THE-WISP

My reverence, I hope, will me enable To curb my temperament unstable; For zigzag courses we are wont to keep.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Indeed? he’d like mankind to imitate! Now, in the Devil’s name, go straight, Or I’ll blow out his being’s flickering spark!

WILL-O’-THE-WISP

You are the master of the house, I mark, And I shall try to serve you nicely. But then, reflect: the mountain’s magic-mad to-day, And if a will-o’-the-wisp must guide you on the way, You mustn’t take things too precisely.

FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES, WILL-O’-THE-WISP

(in alternating song)

We, it seems, have entered newly In the sphere of dreams enchanted. Do thy bidding, guide us truly, That our feet be forwards planted In the vast, the desert spaces! See them swiftly changing places, Trees on trees beside us trooping, And the crags above us stooping, And the rocky snouts, outgrowing,— Hear them snoring, hear them blowing! O’er the stones, the grasses, flowing Stream and streamlet seek the hollow. Hear I noises? songs that follow? Hear I tender love-petitions? Voices of those heavenly visions? Sounds of hope, of love undying! And the echoes, like traditions Of old days, come faint and hollow.

Hoo-hoo! Shoo-hoo! Nearer hover Jay and screech-owl, and the plover,— Are they all awake and crying? Is’t the salamander pushes, Bloated-bellied, through the bushes? And the roots, like serpents twisted, Through the sand and boulders toiling, Fright us, weirdest links uncoiling To entrap us, unresisted: Living knots and gnarls uncanny Feel with polypus-antennae For the wanderer. Mice are flying, Thousand-colored, herd-wise hieing Through the moss and through the heather!

And the fire-flies wink and darkle, Crowded swarms that soar and sparkle, And in wildering escort gather!

Tell me, if we still are standing, Or if further we’re ascending? All is turning, whirling, blending, Trees and rocks with grinning faces, Wandering lights that spin in mazes, Still increasing and expanding!