Part 11

Methinks a magic coil our feet around, He for a future snare doth lightly spread.

WAGNER

FAUST

The circle narrows, he's already near!

WAGNER

A dog dost see, no spectre have we here; He growls, doubts, lays him on his belly, too, And wags his tail--as dogs are wont to do.

FAUST

Come hither, Sirrah! join our company!

WAGNER

A very poodle, he appears to be! Thou standest still, for thee he'll wait; Thou speak'st to him, he fawns upon thee straight; Aught thou mayst lose, again he'll bring, And for thy stick will into water spring.

FAUST

Thou'rt right indeed; no traces now I see Whatever of a spirit's agency. 'Tis training.--nothing more.

WAGNER

A dog well taught E'en by the wisest of us may be sought. Ay, to your favour he's entitled too, Apt scholar of the students, 'tis his due! (They enter the gate of the town.)

STUDY FAUST (entering with the poodle)

Now field and meadow I've forsaken; O'er them deep night her veil doth draw; In us the better soul doth waken, With feelings of foreboding awe, All lawless promptings, deeds unholy, Now slumber, and all wild desires; The love of man doth sway us wholly, And love to God the soul inspires.

Peace, poodle, peace! Scamper not thus; obey me! Why at the threshold snuffest thou so? Behind the stove now quietly lay thee, My softest cushion to thee I'll throw. As thou, without, didst please and amuse me Running and frisking about on the hill, So tendance now I will not refuse thee; A welcome guest, if thou'lt be still.

Ah! when the friendly taper gloweth, Once more within our narrow cell, Then in the heart itself that knoweth, A light the darkness doth dispel. Reason her voice resumes; returneth Hope's gracious bloom, with promise rife; For streams of life the spirit yearneth, Ah! for the very fount of life.

Poodle, snarl not! with the tone that arises. Hallow'd and peaceful, my soul within, Accords not thy growl, thy bestial din. We find it not strange, that man despises What he conceives not; That he the good and fair misprizes-- Finding them often beyond his ken; Will the dog snarl at them like men?

But ah! Despite my will, it stands confessed, Contentment welleth up no longer in my breast. Yet wherefore must the stream, alas, so soon be dry, That we once more athirst should lie? Full oft this sad experience hath been mine; Nathless the want admits of compensation; For things above the earth we learn to pine, Our spirits yearn for revelation, Which nowhere burns with purer beauty blent,

Than here in the New Testament. To ope the ancient text an impulse strong Impels me, and its sacred lore, With honest purpose to explore, And render into my loved German tongue. (He opens a volume, and applies himself to it.) 'Tis writ, "In the beginning was the Word!" I pause, perplex'd! Who now will help afford? I cannot the mere Word so highly prize; I must translate it otherwise, If by the spirit guided as I read. "In the beginning was the Sense!" Take heed, The import of this primal sentence weigh, Lest thy too hasty pen be led astray! Is force creative then of Sense the dower? "In the beginning was the Power!" Thus should it stand: yet, while the line I trace. A something warns me, once more to efface. The spirit aids! from anxious scruples freed, I write, "In the beginning was the Deed!"

Am I with thee my room to share, Poodle, thy barking now forbear, Forbear thy howling! Comrade so noisy, ever growling, I cannot suffer here to dwell. One or the other, mark me well, Forthwith must leave the cell. I'm loath the guest-right to withhold; The door's ajar, the passage clear; But what must now mine eyes behold! Are nature's laws suspended here? Real is it, or a phantom show? In length and breadth how doth my poodle grow! He lifts himself with threat'ning mien, In likeness of a dog no longer seen! What spectre have I harbour'd thus! Huge as a hippopotamus, With fiery eye, terrific tooth! Ah I now I know thee, sure enough! For such a base, half-hellish brood, The key of Solomon is good.

SPIRITS (without) Captur'd there within is one! Stay without and follow none! Like a fox in iron snare, Hell's old lynx is quaking there, But take heed! Hover round, above, below, To and fro, Then from durance is he freed! Can ye aid him, spirits all, Leave him not in mortal thrall! Many a time and oft bath he Served us, when at liberty.

FAUST

The monster to confront, at first, The spell of Four must be rehears'd;

Salamander shall kindle, Writhe nymph of the wave, In air sylph shall dwindle, And Kobold shall slave.

Who doth ignore The primal Four, Nor knows aright Their use and might, O'er spirits will he Ne'er master be!

Vanish in the fiery glow, Salamander! Rushingly together flow. Undine! Shimmer in the meteor's gleam, Sylphide! Hither bring thine homely aid,