Faust Part 39

Well! I'll engage to let thee be: Thou darest not tell me so in earnest.

The loss of thee were truly very slight,- comrade crazy, rude, repelling:

One has one's hands full all the day and night; If what one does, or leaves undone, is right, From such a face as thine there is no telling.

FAUST

There is, again, thy proper tone!- That thou hast bored me, I must thankful be!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Poor Son of Earth, how couldst thou thus alone Have led thy life, bereft of me?

I, for a time, at least, have worked thy cure; Thy fancy's rickets plague thee not at all: Had I not been, so hadst thou, sure, Walked thyself off this earthly ball Why here to caverns, rocky hollows slinking, Sit'st thou, as 'twere an owl a-blinking?

Why suck'st, from sodden moss and dripping stone, Toad-like, thy nourishment alone?

A fine way, this, thy time to fill!

The Doctor's in thy body still.

FAUST

What fresh and vital forces, canst thou guess, Spring from my commerce with the wilderness?

But, if thou hadst the power of guessing, Thou wouldst be devil enough to grudge my soul the blessing.

MEPHISTOPHELES

A blessing drawn from supernatural fountains!

In night and dew to lie upon the mountains; All Heaven and Earth in rapture penetrating; Thyself to G.o.dhood haughtily inflating; To grub with yearning force through Earth's dark marrow, Compress the six days' work within thy bosom narrow,- To taste, I know not what, in haughty power, Thine own ecstatic life on all things shower, Thine earthly self behind thee cast, And then the lofty instinct, thus-

(With a gesture:)

at last,-

I daren't say how-to pluck the final flower!

FAUST

Shame on thee!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Yes, thou findest that unpleasant!

Thou hast the moral right to cry me "shame!" at present.

One dares not that before chaste ears declare, Which chaste hearts, notwithstanding, cannot spare; And, once for all, I grudge thee not the pleasure Of lying to thyself in moderate measure.

But such a course thou wilt not long endure; Already art thou o'er-excited, And, if it last, wilt soon be plighted To madness and to horror, sure.

Enough of that! Thy love sits lonely yonder, By all things saddened and oppressed; Her thoughts and yearnings seek thee, tenderer, fonder,- mighty love is in her breast.

First came thy pa.s.sion's flood and poured around her As when from melted snow a streamlet overflows; Thou hast therewith so filled and drowned her, That now thy stream all shallow shows.

Methinks, instead of in the forests lording, The n.o.ble Sir should find it good, The love of this young silly blood At once to set about rewarding.

Her time is miserably long; She haunts her window, watching clouds that stray O'er the old city-wall, and far away.

"Were I a little bird!" so runs her song, Day long, and half night long.

Now she is lively, mostly sad, Now, wept beyond her tears; Then again quiet she appears,-Always love-mad.

FAUST

Serpent! Serpent!

MEPHISTOPHELES (aside)

Ha! do I trap thee!

FAUST

Get thee away with thine offences, Reprobate! Name not that fairest thing, Nor the desire for her sweet body bring Again before my half-distracted senses!

MEPHISTOPHELES

What wouldst thou, then? She thinks that thou art flown; And half and half thou art, I own.

FAUST

Yet am I near, and love keeps watch and ward; Though I were ne'er so far, it cannot falter: I envy even the Body of the Lord The touching of her lips, before the altar.

MEPHISTOPHELES

'Tis very well! My envy oft reposes On your twin-pair, that feed among the roses.

FAUST

Away, thou pimp!

MEPHISTOPHELES

You rail, and it is fun to me.

The G.o.d, who fas.h.i.+oned youth and maid, Perceived the n.o.blest purpose of His trade, And also made their opportunity.

Go on! It is a woe profound!

'Tis for your sweetheart's room you're bound, And not for death, indeed.

FAUST

What are, within her arms, the heavenly blisses?

Though I be glowing with her kisses, Do I not always share her need?

I am the fugitive, all houseless roaming, The monster without air or rest, That like a cataract, down rocks and gorges foaming, Leaps, maddened, into the abyss's breast!

And side-wards she, with young unwakened senses, Within her cabin on the Alpine field Her simple, homely life commences, Her little world therein concealed.

And I, G.o.d's hate flung o'er me, Had not enough, to thrust The stubborn rocks before me And strike them into dust!

She and her peace I yet must undermine: Thou, h.e.l.l, hast claimed this sacrifice as thine!

Help, Devil! through the coming pangs to push me; What must be, let it quickly be!

Let fall on me her fate, and also crush me,- One ruin whelm both her and me!

MEPHISTOPHELES