FAUSTUS. Soft sounds, that breathe of Heaven, most mild, most powerful, Drove me, a wanderer through fields and woods; Then tears rushed hot and fast-then was the birth Of a new life and a new world for me; These bells announced the merry sports of youth, And now am I once more a little child, And old Remembrance, twining round my heart, Then sing ye forth-sweet songs that breathe of heaven! Any praise of such poetry as this would be impertinent. In the next scene Faustus and his pupil are found observing and mingling with the groups of citizens assembled to celebrate the Easter festival in the suburbs. Faustus falls into a moody reverie, and again invokes the spirits of the air. A black dog is seen wheeling about them attracting their attention by his gambols, and at last joins them. We then find Faustus again in his closet with the dog. Somewhat soothed by his late intercourse with the real world, his calmer thoughts are continually interrupted by the angry growl of his companion. To fix his mind he takes down the New Testa Vanish, dark arches, That over us bend, Let the blue sky in beauty Look in like a friend. Oh, that the black clouds Asunder were riven, ment, and is commencing a translation of St. John's Gospel, when the aggravated impatience of the dog convinces him that his solitude is haunted by some spirit of evil; he has recourse to powerful spells, and Mephistopheles at last appears as a travelling scholar. After a short converse, the Dæmon, who is desirous of departing, but detained by the superior power of Faust, proposes to the Doctor an exhibition of his art; he lulls him to sleep with the aid of a song of his assistant spirits, the expression of whose wild and unearthly melody, Mr. Anster may well be proud of as a triumphant effort of his art. SPIRITS sing. That the small stars were brightening All through the wide heaven! And look at them smiling In beautiful splendour, Suns, but with glory More placid and Bender Children of heaven, Flowing to meet them, On bank and in bower, Ribands are fluttering, The vine's purple treasure, Have fallen in the wine-vat, And bleed in its pressure for which he has so long toiled in vain. This scene is one of extraordinary power, but we cannot bring ourselves to mar it by extract or abridgment, and it is too long for insertion entire. Having persuaded his victim to leave his retirement, the fiend first brings him to a society of drunkards; their revels and the grim gambols with which the Dæmon diversifies them are exhibited Foaming and steaming, the new wine is in an extraordinary scene, but Faustus streaming, Over bright precious stones It rolls on from its fountain, Meadow and mountain, It lingers in wild lakes, more leisurely flowing Where the hills to behold it with pleasure are glowing, And the winged throng With wings steering sun-ward, motion, Stir with the waves of the stirring ocean. While the Doctor is asleep, the fiend contrives to escape. In the next scene Mephistopheles again appears on the stage with Faustus, and at last induces his victim to sign the usual devilish compact, on condition of obtaining for him that satisfaction and acquiescence in his lot does not find here the object of his search. Love is next to be tried: for this purpose Faustus is taken to a witch's kitchen-Strange Monsters, having the speech of man without his reason, are cooking some hellish broth; their jargon, in which snatches of meaning are clinked with nonsense into wild rhymes, makes Faustus's head giddy, and the reader's nerves must be of the strongest if it has not the same effect on them. The witch herself appears; he receives from her a potion by which his youth is renewed; and his desires are inflamed by the exhibition in her mirror of the form of perfect female beauty. The Dæmon's train for his victim is now fully laid "With this draught in him he will meet, A Helěna in every street." Accordingly he throws Faustus in the way of a lovely girl returning from church. Faustus, instantly enamoured, offers her his arm--she disengages herself-Mephistopheles enters-Faustus demands of him the instant gratification of his desires, and after a slight hesitation skilfully managed to inflame them, the fiend promises to introduce him to her chamber; the next scene accordingly finds Faustus in Margaret's apartment, which she, somewhat ruffled by the incident in the street, has just left. -In low estate what more than riches are, [He throws himself on the leathern arm-chair beside the bed.” Year after year, the generations gone Welcomed in joy and grief: how many a swarm Of children round this patriarchal throne Have gathered here! perhaps beside this seat- -Even now she scarce is more-at Christmas eve, Her young round cheeks prest on his withered hand. The spirit of contentment, maiden dear, Is breathing in thy very atmosphere; I feel it sway me while I linger here. The sense of neatness felt in every thing, Speaks with a mother's voice, and bids thee spread The floor with clean sand crackling to the tread. Here could I linger hours on hours, Where dreams and meditative thought, And, nature, thy benignant powers As day by day each influence pure, Of heaven and earth her heart mature, To light, the angel from within. Here lay the slumbering child, her tender breast But thou accursed, what art thou? And should she now return and meet Just as Faustus' better feelings are excited, Mephistopheles enters with a casket of jewels, designed as a present for Margaret; he desires Faustus to place them in her cabinet. FAUSTUS. I know not; ought I? MEPHISTOPHELES. Can you ask it? Perhaps you wish to keep the casket; I wish you joy of this cheap vice; Of love has burst-it saves me trouble; [Places the casket in the press, and closes Away-come quick— As if 'twere your old lecture-room, [Exeunt. After a few scenes in which, by means of a female friend of Margaret, whom Mephistopheles deceives by pretending to become her suitor, Faustus is introduced to the poor girl, whose simplicity and devoted affection are beautifully drawn. Then follows a scene in which Faustus wholly possessed by his passion has retired to some solitary place, and which is one of such extraordinary merit, that we must contrive to make room for it. FOREST AND CAVERN. FAUSTUS (alone). Yes! lofty Spirit, thou hast given me all, Thy presence-thou hast looked on me with love, And when before my eye the pure moon walks Alas! even now I feel MAN's joys must be Poor child of earth! and couldst thou, then, have borne Thy life till now without my aid? 'Twas I That saved thee from imagination's idle! I guarded thee with long and anxious care; And, but for me, even now thou wouldst have been Idling in other worlds! Why sittest thou there, Lingering in hollow cave, or rifted rock, Dull as the moping owl? Why, like the toad, FAUSTUS. Couldst thou conceive what added life is given In hours like this, passed in the wilderness, And couldst thou feel it-still thou wouldst remain MEPHISTOPHELES. Delight indeed! |