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Margaret! Margaret!
MARGARET (attentively listening)
That was the voice of my lover!
(She springs to her feet: the fetters fall off.)
Where is he? I heard him call me.
I am free! No one shall enthrall me.
To his neck will I fly, On his bosom lie!
On the threshold he stood, and Margaret! calling, Midst of h.e.l.l's howling and noises appalling, Midst of the wrathful, infernal derision, I knew the sweet sound of the voice of the vision!
FAUST
'Tis I!
MARGARET
'Tis thou! O, say it once again!
(Clasping him.)
'Tis he! 'tis he! Where now is all my pain?
The anguish of the dungeon, and the chain?
'Tis thou! Thou comest to save me, And I am saved!- Again the street I see Where first I looked on thee; And the garden, brightly blooming, Where I and Martha wait thy coming.
FAUST (struggling to leave)
Come! Come with me!
MARGARET
Delay, now!
So fain I stay, when thou delayest!
(Caressing him.)
FAUST
Away, now!
If longer here thou stayest, We shall be made to dearly rue it.
MARGARET
Kiss me!-canst no longer do it?
My friend, so short a time thou'rt missing, And hast unlearned thy kissing?
Why is my heart so anxious, on thy breast?
Where once a heaven thy glances did create me, A heaven thy loving words expressed, And thou didst kiss, as thou wouldst suffocate me- Kiss me!
Or I'll kiss thee!
(She embraces him.)
Ah, woe! thy lips are chill, And still.
How changed in fashion Thy pa.s.sion!
Who has done me this ill?
(She turns away from him.)
FAUST
Come, follow me! My darling, be more bold: I'll clasp thee, soon, with warmth a thousand-fold; But follow now! 'Tis all I beg of thee.
MARGARET (turning to him)
And is it thou? Thou, surely, certainly?
FAUST
'Tis I! Come on!
MARGARET
Thou wilt unloose my chain, And in thy lap wilt take me once again.
How comes it that thou dost not shrink from me?- Say, dost thou know, my friend, whom thou mak'st free?
FAUST
Come! come! The night already vanisheth.
MARGARET
My mother have I put to death; I've drowned the baby born to thee.
Was it not given to thee and me?
Thee, too!-'Tis thou! It scarcely true doth seem- Give me thy hand! 'Tis not a dream!
Thy dear, dear hand!-But, ah, 'tis wet!
Why, wipe it off! Methinks that yet There's blood thereon.
Ah, G.o.d! what hast thou done?
Nay, sheathe thy sword at last!
Do not affray me!
FAUST
O, let the past be past!
Thy words will slay me!
MARGARET
No, no! Thou must outlive us.
