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Arches not there the sky above us?
Lies not beneath us, firm, the earth?
And rise not, on us s.h.i.+ning, Friendly, the everlasting stars?
Look I not, eye to eye, on thee, And feel'st not, thronging To head and heart, the force, Still weaving its eternal secret, Invisible, visible, round thy life?
Vast as it is, fill with that force thy heart, And when thou in the feeling wholly blessed art, Call it, then, what thou wilt,- Call it Bliss! Heart! Love! G.o.d!
I have no name to give it!
Feeling is all in all: The Name is sound and smoke, Obscuring Heaven's clear glow.
MARGARET
All that is fine and good, to hear it so: Much the same way the preacher spoke, Only with slightly different phrases.
FAUST
The same thing, in all places, All hearts that beat beneath the heavenly day- Each in its language-say; Then why not I, in mine, as well?
MARGARET
To hear it thus, it may seem pa.s.sable; And yet, some hitch in't there must be For thou hast no Christianity.
FAUST
Dear love!
MARGARET
I've long been grieved to see That thou art in such company.
FAUST
How so?
MARGARET
The man who with thee goes, thy mate, Within my deepest, inmost soul I hate.
In all my life there's nothing Has given my heart so keen a pang of loathing, As his repulsive face has done.
FAUST
Nay, fear him not, my sweetest one!
MARGARET
I feel his presence like something ill.
I've else, for all, a kindly will, But, much as my heart to see thee yearneth, The secret horror of him returneth; And I think the man a knave, as I live!
If I do him wrong, may G.o.d forgive!
FAUST
There must be such queer birds, however.
MARGARET
Live with the like of him, may I never!
When once inside the door comes he, He looks around so sneeringly, And half in wrath: One sees that in nothing no interest he hath: 'Tis written on his very forehead That love, to him, is a thing abhorred.
I am so happy on thine arm, So free, so yielding, and so warm, And in his presence stifled seems my heart.
FAUST
Foreboding angel that thou art!
MARGARET
It overcomes me in such degree, That wheresoe'er he meets us, even, I feel as though I'd lost my love for thee.
When he is by, I could not pray to Heaven.
That burns within me like a flame, And surely, Henry, 'tis with thee the same.
FAUST
There, now, is thine antipathy!
MARGARET
But I must go.
FAUST
Ah, shall there never be A quiet hour, to see us fondly plighted, With breast to breast, and soul to soul united?
MARGARET
Ah, if I only slept alone!
I'd draw the bolts to-night, for thy desire; But mother's sleep so light has grown, And if we were discovered by her, 'Twould be my death upon the spot!
FAUST
Thou angel, fear it not!
Here is a phial: in her drink But three drops of it measure, And deepest sleep will on her senses sink.
MARGARET
What would I not, to give thee pleasure?
It will not harm her, when one tries it?
FAUST
If 'twould, my love, would I advise it?
MARGARET
