He saw it plunging and filling,
        And sinking deep in the sea: 
        Then fell his eyelids forever,
        And never more drank he!

(She opens the press in order to arrange her clothes, and perceives the casket of jewels.)

How comes that lovely casket here to me? 
I locked the press, most certainly. 
’Tis truly wonderful!  What can within it be? 
Perhaps ’twas brought by some one as a pawn,
And mother gave a loan thereon? 
And here there hangs a key to fit: 
I have a mind to open it. 
What is that?  God in Heaven!  Whence came
Such things?  Never beheld I aught so fair! 
Rich ornaments, such as a noble dame
On highest holidays might wear! 
How would the pearl-chain suit my hair? 
Ah, who may all this splendor own?

(She adorns herself with the jewelry, and steps before the mirror.)

Were but the ear-rings mine, alone! 
One has at once another air. 
What helps one’s beauty, youthful blood? 
One may possess them, well and good;
But none the more do others care. 
They praise us half in pity, sure: 
To gold still tends,
On gold depends
All, all!  Alas, we poor!

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

IX

PROMENADE

(FAUST, walking thoughtfully up and down.  To him MEPHISTOPHELES.)

MEPHISTOPHELES

By all love ever rejected!  By hell-fire hot and unsparing!  I wish I knew something worse, that I might use it for swearing!

FAUST

What ails thee?  What is’t gripes thee, elf? 
A face like thine beheld I never.

MEPHISTOPHELES

I would myself unto the Devil deliver,
If I were not a Devil myself!

FAUST

Thy head is out of order, sadly: 
It much becomes thee to be raving madly.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Just think, the pocket of a priest should get
The trinkets left for Margaret! 
The mother saw them, and, instanter,
A secret dread began to haunt her. 
Keen scent has she for tainted air;
She snuffs within her book of prayer,
And smells each article, to see
If sacred or profane it be;
So here she guessed, from every gem,
That not much blessing came with them. 
“My child,” she said, “ill-gotten good
Ensnares the soul, consumes the blood. 
Before the Mother of God we’ll lay it;
With heavenly manna she’ll repay it!”
But Margaret thought, with sour grimace,
“A gift-horse is not out of place,
And, truly! godless cannot be
The one who brought such things to me.” 
A parson came, by the mother bidden: