The faith, in which she moves and lives-
That which alone salvation gives-
So she believes-may make her fear
Danger to one whom she holds dear;
Fear for the issue of a strife

Where more, she feels, is risked than life!
Meph. Most sentimental sensualist,
-Philosopher at once and beast,-
Led by the nose by a young flirt! 480
Faust. Abortion-spawn of fire and dirt!
Meph. [scornfully].-On Physiognomy she also lectures.
Profoundly-feels, when I am present,
Sensations strange and most unpleasant:
-Suppressed malignity my smile betrays;
I wear a mask, forsooth, I will not raise,
And what it hides she sapiently conjectures,
Something mysteriously allied to evil,

A genius-or, perhaps, the very devil.
To-night then.

Faust.

What's to-night to thee? 4590

Meph. I've my amusements too-we'll see.

XVII

AT THE FOUNTAIN

MARGARET and Lizzy, with pitchers

Lizzy. Have you not heard of Hannah's pretty doing? Marg. No, not a word-I've been but little out. Liz. Kate told it me to-day-there's not a doubt Of its truth. This comes of airs and impudence, I always said her pride would be her ruin.

Marg. What mean you?
Liz.

What I mean all know but youWhy, when she eats and drinks she's feeding two. Marg. Poor thing!

Liz. Poor thing, indeed! great pity for her! Why, she was always finding some pretence To be in company with this adorer Of hers; at every party-every walk

How she made out a time for private talk!
Would hang upon his arm, and still be seen
For evermore with him, at booth or green.

She thought herself so fine, none could come near her;
And then their feastings-cakes and wine must cheer her
After their rambles: then her vanity

About her beauty almost like insanity

4310

And then her meanness-think of her insisting
Upon his making handsome presents to her—
Then came soft words, when there were none to listen,
Then all a girl can give she gave her wooer !

Marg. The poor, poor thing!

Liz.

And do you pity her?

When we were kept close to our wheels, and when

Our mothers would not suffer us to stir

Abroad at night, or loiter with the men,

Then were they on the seat before the door,

Or in the dark walk lingering evermore;

Now for the stool and white sheet of repentance; 9670 For one, I feel no sorrow at her sentence.

Marg. Poor creature! but, no doubt, he'll marry her. Liz. He-he'll be no such fool-the de'il may carry her, For what he cares-they say that he is off;

He'll find another market soon enough.

Marg. That is not fair.

Liz. 'Twill be almost as bad, We will so plague her-if she get the lad ;— The wedding garland, should she think to wear it, From the mock virgin shall the children tear it; And, at her door, what fun we shall have, spreading Chopped straw, to greet the promise of their wedding. [Exit Marg. [returning home]. How I would rail when some poor girl went wrong!

How, when it was another's sin and shame,

Words of reproach would rise up to my tongue!

It was, it was black-oh how black, and I
Blackened it more and more-no words of blame
This virtuous scorn of mine could satisfy-
Others might fall, but I more proud became-
I blessed myself, and held myself so high,

And I who thus could feel-am I the same? 440
But could I-who could-have resisted here?

All was so good! all was so very dear!

25%

4630

XVIII

ZWINGER

A Little Shrine

In a niche of the wall an image of the Mater Dolorosa with flowers before it.-MARGARET places fresh flowers in the bowls

In faith unto the Father dost thou lift up thine eyes;
In faith unto the Father dost pray with many sighs. 4650
The sword is piercing thine own soul, and thou in pain

dost pray,

That the pangs which torture him, and are thy pangs,
may pass away.

And who my wound can heal
And who the pain can feel,

That rends asunder brain and bone ?
How my poor heart, within me aching,
Trembles and yearns, and is forsaken-
Thou knowest it-thou alone!

Where can I go? Where can I go?

Every where woe! woe! woe!

Nothing that does not my own grief betoken;

And when I am alone,

I moan, and moan, and moan,

And am heart-broken.

The flowers upon my window sill,
Wet with my tears since dawn they be ;
All else were sleeping, while I was weeping,
Praying and choosing flowers for thee.

Into my chamber brightly

Came the early sun's good-morrow;

On my restless bed, unsightly,

I sate up in my sorrow.

4670

Oh, in this hour of death, and the near grave
Succour me, thou, and save!

Look on me with that countenance benign.
Never was grief like thine,—
Look down, look down on mine!

XIX

NIGHT

67.

STREET BEFORE MARGARET'S DOOR

VALENTINE (a soldier-MARGARET's brother).

Till now, as round the canteen hearth,
My comrades, in their drunken mirth,
Would of their favourites gaily boast,
And pledge with soldiers' glee the toast;
How on my elbow I would rest,

9658

Smile as each swore his own the best,

And stroke my beard, and raise my glass,

And when my turn to name the lass

4676

Came round, would say, "Each to his taste;
In my own home my heart is placed.
Where is the maiden, any where,
That with my Margaret can compare?
Is there than Madge's in the land
A truer heart or fairer hand?"
Oh, then, how cups and goblets rang,
While voices rose with joyous clang:
"Right, right," in chorus, hundreds cried,

"First of them all-the country's pride-
His sister is "-and dumb and tame
The boasters suddenly became.
And now-oh, I could rend my hair,
Could dash my brains out in despair;
Now must I feel my bosom gored 40
By daggers in each casual word,
And every ruffian's sneering eye
And scornful taunt my patience try;
Gnawing my wrath must I remain,
And suffer and suppress my pain,
Nor dare say any word again;
As hears the debtor gibe and curse,
Who meets a claim with empty purse.
Avenge it-what can vengeance do?
Must I not feel the taunt is true? 710

See yonder sneaking out of sight,
Two skulking scoundrels.-Am I right?
'Tis he-would Heaven that it were he-
He scarce shall 'scape me if it be.

FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES

Faust. See, in the window of yon sacristy,
How from its little lamp the constant light
Streams up while, at the sides, less and less bright,
'Tis fading-till it dies in the thick night

That deepens round-and thus it is with me—
Darkness on every side around me spreads.

Meph. And I am like the thievish cat that treads, Prowling along, up ladders and down leads

A nibble in the dark-there's no harm in it—

Or snatching on the roof a stolen love-minute.
Already do I feel the power,

The fun and frolic of the hour;
The advent of Walpurgis Night

Bids every limb thrill with delight;

Another night-another day,

And then the glorious First of May; 470

Then to the Brocken fare we forth,

Then learn that life is something worth.

Faust. Behold yon blue light glimmering!