LIVIA. Here. JUSTINA (putting on her cloak). In this, as in a shroud of snow, may I Quench the consuming fire in which I burn, Wasting away! LISANDER. And I will go with thee. LIVIA. When I once see them safe out of the house I shall breathe freely. JUSTINA. So do I confide In thy just favour, Heaven! LISANDER. Let us go. JUSTINA. Thine is the cause, great God! turn for my sake, And for thine own, mercifully to me! SCENES FROM THE FAUST OF GOETHE. PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN. The Lord and the Host of Heaven. Enter three Archangels. RAPHAEL. THE sun makes music as of old Amid the rival spheres of Heaven, On its predestined circle rolled With thunder speed: the Angels even Draw strength from gazing on its glance, Though none its meaning fathom may:-The world's unwithered countenance Is bright as at creation's day. GABRIEL. And swift and swift, with rapid lightness, With deep and dreadful night; the sea Up to the rocks, and rocks and ocean, Onward, with spheres which never sleep, Are hurried in eternal motion. MICHAEL. And tempests in contention roar From land to sea, from sea to land; And, raging, weave a chain of power, Which girds the earth, as with a band.— A flashing desolation there, Flames before the thunder's way; But thy servants, Lord, revere The gentle changes of thy day. CHORUS OF THE THREE. The Angels draw strength from thy glance, Thy world's unwithered countenance RAPHAEL. The sun sounds, according to ancient custom, In the song of emulation of his brother-spheres. And its fore-written circle Fulfills with a step of thunder. Its countenance gives the Angels strength Though no one can fathom it. The incredible high works Are excellent as at the first day. GABRIEL. And swift, and inconceivably swift The adornment of earth winds itself round, And exchanges Paradise-clearness With deep dreadful night. The sea foams in broad waves From its deep bottom, up to the rocks, And rocks and sea are torn on together In the eternal swift course of the spheres. MICHAEL. And storms roar in emulation From sea to land, from land to sea, And make, raging, a chain Enter MEPHISTOPHELES. MEPHISTOPHELES. As thou, O Lord, once more art kind enough To interest thyself in our affairs And ask, "How goes it with you there below?" And as indulgently at other times Thou tookedst not my visits in ill part, Thou seest me here once more among thy household. You will excuse me if I do not talk In the high style which they think fashionable; A little better would he live, hadst thou Before the path of the thunderbolt. But thy servants, Lord, revere The gentle alternations of thy day. CHORUS. Thy countenance gives the Angels strength, Though none can comprehend thee: And all thy lofty works Are excellent as at the first day. Such is a literal translation of this astonishing Chorus; it is impossible to represent in another language the melody of the versification; even the volatile strength and delicacy of the ideas escape in the crucible of translation, and the reader is surprised to find a caput mortuum.-Author's Note. Which he calls reason, and employs it only With reverence to your Lordship be it spoken, THE LORD. Have you no more to say? Do you come here MEPHISTOPHELES. No, Lord! I find all there, as ever, bad at best. He serves you in a fashion quite his own; And the fool's meat and drink are not of earth. His aspirations bear him on so far That he is half aware of his own folly, For he demands from Heaven its fairest star, And from the earth the highest joy it bears, |