Faust Part 1 | Page 7

good friend, you certainly require When foes in battle round are pressing, When a fair maid, her heart on fire, Hangs on your neck with fond caressing, When from afar, the victor's crown, To reach the hard-won goal inciteth; When from the whirling dance, to drown Your sense, the night's carouse inviteth. But the familiar chords among Boldly to sweep, with graceful cunning, While to its goal, the verse along Its winding path is sweetly running; This task is yours, old gentlemen, to-day; Nor are you therefore less in reverence held; Age does not make us childish, as folk say, It finds us genuine children e'en in eld.
MANAGER
A truce to words, mere empty sound, Let deeds at length appear, my friends! While idle compliments you round, You might achieve some useful ends. Why talk of the poetic vein? Who hesitates will never know it; If bards ye are, as ye maintain, Now let your inspiration show it. To you is known what we require, Strong drink to sip is our desire; Come, brew me such without delay! To-morrow sees undone, what happens not to-day Still forward press, nor ever tire! The possible, with steadfast trust, Resolve should by the forelock grasp; Then she will ne'er let go her clasp, And labours on, because she must. Therefore in bringing out your play, Nor scenes nor mechanism spare! Heaven's lamps employ, the greatest and the least, Be lavish of the stellar lights, Water, and fire, and rocky heights, Spare not at all, nor birds, nor beast. Thus let creation's ample sphere Forthwith in this our narrow booth appear, And with considerate speed, through fancy's spell, Journey from heaven, thence through the world, to bell!
PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN
THE LOAD. THE HEAVENLY HOSTS. Afterwards MEPHISTOPHELES.
Time three Archangels come forward
RAPHAEL
THE Sun, in ancient guise, competing With brother spheres in rival song, With thunder-march, his orb completing, Moves his predestin'd course along; His aspect to the powers supernal Gives strength, though fathom him none may; Transcending thought, the works eternal Are fair as on the primal day.
GABRIEL
With speed, thought baffling, unabating, Earth's splendour whirls in circling flight; Its Eden-brightness alternating With solemn, awe-inspiring night; Ocean's broad waves in wild commotion, Against the rocks' deep base are hurled; And with the spheres, both rock and ocean Eternally are swiftly whirled.
MICHAEL
And tempests roar in emulation From sea to land, from land to sea, And raging form, without cessation, A chain of wondrous agency, Full in the thunder's path careering,
Flaring the swift destructions play; But, Lord, Thy servants are revering The mild procession of thy day.
THE THREE
Thine aspect to the powers supernal Gives strength, though fathom thee none may; And all thy works, sublime, eternal, Are fair as on the primal day.
MEPHISTOPHELES
Since thou, O Lord, approachest us once more, And how it fares with us, to ask art fain, Since thou hast kindly welcom'd me of yore, Thou see'st me also now among thy train. Excuse me, fine harangues I cannot make, Though all the circle look on me with scorn; My pathos soon thy laughter would awake, Hadst thou the laughing mood not long forsworn. Of suns and worlds I nothing have to say, I see alone mankind's self-torturing pains. The little world-god still the self-same stamp retains, And is as wondrous now as on the primal day. Better he might have fared, poor wight, Hadst thou not given him a gleam of heavenly light; Reason, he names it, and doth so Use it, than brutes more brutish still to grow. With deference to your grace, he seems to me Like any long-legged grasshopper to be, Which ever flies, and flying springs, And in the grass its ancient ditty sings. Would he but always in the grass repose! In every heap of dung he thrusts his nose.
THE LORD
Hast thou naught else to say? Is blame In coming here, as ever, thy sole aim? Does nothing on the earth to thee seem right?
MEPHISTOPHELES
No, Lord! I find things there, as ever, in sad plight. Men, in their evil 'clays, move my compassion; Such sorry things to plague is nothing worth.
THE LORD
Know'st thou my servant, Faust?
MEPHISTOPHELES
The doctor?
THE LORD
Right
MEPHISTOPHELES
He serves thee truly in a wondrous fashion. Poor fool! His food and drink are not of earth. An inward impulse hurries him afar, Himself half conscious of his frenzied mood; From heaven claimeth he the fairest star, And from the earth craves every highest good, And all that's near,, and all that's far, Fails to allay the tumult in his blood.
THE LORD
Though in perplexity he serves me now, I soon will lead him where more light appears; When buds the sapling, doth the gardener know That flowers and fruit will deck the coming years.
MEPHISTOPHELES
What wilt thou wager? Him thou yet shall lose, If leave to me thou wilt but give, Gently to lead him