Ah, little rogue, so thou
Think’st to provoke me! I have caught thee now!
[He kisses her.]
MARGARET (embracing him, and returning the kiss)
Dearest of men! I love thee from my heart!
’Tis time to part.
Ay, it is late, good sir.
Mayn’t I attend you, then?
Oh no—my mother would—adieu, adieu!
And must I really then take leave of you?
Ere long to meet again!
[Exeunt FAUST and MEPHISTOPHELES.]
Good heavens! how all things far and near
Must fill his mind—a man like this!
Abash’d before him I appear,
And say to all things only, yes.
Poor simple child, I cannot see
What ’tis that he can find in me.
Spirit sublime! Thou gav’st me, gav’st
For which I prayed! Not vainly hast thou turn’d
To me thy countenance in flaming fire:
Gavest me glorious nature for my realm,
And also power to feel her and enjoy;
Not merely with a cold and wondering glance,
Thou dost permit me in her depths profound,
As in the bosom of a friend to gaze.
Before me thou dost lead her living tribes,
And dost in silent grove, in air and stream
Teach me to know my kindred. And when roars
The howling storm-blast through the groaning wood,
Wrenching the giant pine, which in its fall
Crashing sweeps down its neighbor trunks and boughs,
While hollow thunder from the hill resounds:
Then thou dost lead me to some shelter’d cave,
Dost there reveal me to myself, and show
Of my own bosom the mysterious depths.
And when with soothing beam, the moon’s pale orb
Full in my view climbs up the pathless sky,
From crag and dewy grove, the silvery forms
Of by-gone ages hover, and assuage
The joy austere of contemplative thought.
Oh, that naught perfect is assign’d to man,
I feel, alas! With this exalted joy,
Which lifts me near, and nearer to the gods,
Thou gav’st me this companion, unto whom
I needs must cling, though cold and insolent,
He still degrades me to myself, and turns
Thy glorious gifts to nothing, with a breath.
He in my bosom with malicious zeal
For that fair image fans a raging fire;
From craving to enjoyment thus I reel,
And in enjoyment languish for desire.