The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume I Part 82

MEPHISTOPHELES

A broomstick dost thou not at least desire?

The roughest he-goat fain would I bestride, By this road from our goal we're still far wide.

FAUST

While fresh upon my legs, so long I naught require, Except this knotty staff. Beside, What boots it to abridge a pleasant way?

Along the labyrinth of these vales to creep, Then scale these rocks, whence, in eternal spray, Adown the cliffs the silvery fountains leap: Such is the joy that seasons paths like these!

Spring weaves already in the birchen trees; E'en the late pine-grove feels her quickening powers; Should she not work within these limbs of ours?

MEPHISTOPHELES

Naught of this genial influence do I know!

Within me all is wintry. Frost and snow I should prefer my dismal path to bound.

How sadly, yonder, with belated glow Rises the ruddy moon's imperfect round, Shedding so faint a light, at every tread One's sure to stumble 'gainst a rock or tree!

An Ignis Fatuus I must call instead.

Yonder one burning merrily, I see.

Holla! my friend! may I request your light?

Why should you flare away so uselessly?

Be kind enough to show us up the height!

IGNIS FATUUS

Through reverence, I hope I may subdue The lightness of my nature; true, Our course is but a zigzag one.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Ho! ho!

So men, forsooth, he thinks to imitate!

Now, in the devil's name, for once go straight!

Or out at once your flickering life I'll blow.

IGNIS FATUUS

That you are master here is obvious quite; To do your will, I'll cordially essay; Only reflect! The hill is magic-mad tonight; And if to show the path you choose a meteor's light, You must not wonder should we go astray.

FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES, IGNIS FATUUS (_in alternate song_)

Through the dream and magic-sphere, As it seems, we now are speeding; Honor win, us rightly leading, That betimes we may appear In yon wide and desert region!

Trees on trees, a stalwart legion, Swiftly past us are retreating, And the cliffs with lowly greeting; Rocks long-snouted, row on row, How they snort, and how they blow!

Through the stones and heather springing, Brook and brooklet haste below; Hark the rustling! Hark the singing!

Hearken to love's plaintive lays; Voices of those heavenly days-- What we hope, and what we love!

Like a tale of olden time, Echo's voice prolongs the chime.

To-whit! To-who! It sounds more near; Plover, owl, and jay appear, All awake, around, above?

Paunchy salamanders too Peer, long-limbed, the bushes through!

And, like snakes, the roots of trees Coil themselves from rock and sand, Stretching many a wondrous band, Us to frighten, us to seize; From rude knots with life embued, Polyp-fangs abroad they spread, To snare the wanderer! 'Neath our tread, Mice, in myriads, thousand-hued, Through the heath and through the moss!

And the fire-flies' glittering throng, Wildering escort, whirls along, Here and there, our path across.

Tell me, stand we motionless, Or still forward do we press?

All things round us whirl and fly, Rocks and trees make strange grimaces, Dazzling meteors change their places-- How they puff and multiply!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Now grasp my doublet--we at last A central peak have reached, which shows, If round a wondering glance we cast, How in the mountain Mammon glows.

FAUST

How through the chasms strangely gleams, A lurid light, like dawn's red glow, Pervading with its quivering beams, The gorges of the gulf below!

Here vapors rise, there clouds float by, Here through the mist the light doth shine; Now, like a fount, it bursts on high, Meanders now, a slender line; Far reaching, with a hundred veins, Here through the valley see it glide; Here, where its force the gorge restrains, At once it scatters, far and wide; Anear, like showers of golden sand Strewn broadcast, sputter sparks of light: And mark yon rocky walls that stand Ablaze, in all their towering height!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Doth not Sir Mammon for this fete Grandly illume his palace! Thou Art lucky to have seen it; now, The boisterous guests, I feel, are coming straight.

FAUST

How through the air the storm doth whirl!

Upon my neck it strikes with sudden shock.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Cling to these ancient ribs of granite rock, Else to yon depths profound it you will hurl.

A murky vapor thickens night.

Hark! Through the woods the tempests roar!

The owlets flit in wild affright.

Hark! Splinter'd are the columns that upbore The leafy palace, green for aye: The shivered branches whirr and sigh, Yawn the huge trunks with mighty groan, The roots, upriven, creak and moan!

In fearful and entangled fall, One crashing ruin whelms them all, While through the desolate abyss, Sweeping the wreck-strewn precipice, The raging storm-blasts howl and hiss!

Aloft strange voices dost thou hear?

Distant now and now more near?

Hark! the mountain ridge along, Streameth a raving magic-song!

WITCHES (_in chorus_)

Now to the Brocken the witches hie, The stubble is yellow, the corn is green; Thither the gathering legions fly, And sitting aloft is Sir Urian seen: O'er stick and o'er stone they go whirling along, Witches and he-goats, a motley throng.

VOICES

Alone old Baubo's coming now; She rides upon a farrow sow.

CHORUS

Honor to her, to whom honor is due!

Forward, Dame Baubo! Honor to you!

A goodly sow and mother thereon, The whole witch chorus follows anon.

VOICE