For thy poor purposes, himself, his mind.
Profane the gift, which Nature, when she gave
To him, to him entrusted for mankind,

Their birthright-thy poor bidding to obey,

to

Whence is his power all human hearts to win,
(And why can nothing his proud march oppose,
As through all elements the conqueror goes ?
Oh, is it not the harmony within,

The music, that hath for its dwelling-place 2.0
His own rich soul ?-the heart that can receive
Again into itself, again embrace

The world it clothed with beauty and bade live?
With unregarding hand when Nature throws
Upon the spindle the dull length of thread,
That on, still on, in weary sameness flows,
When all things, that in unison agreeing,
Should join to form the happy web of Being,
Are tangled in inextricable strife:

Who can awake the blank monotony 210
To measured order? Who upon the dead
Unthinking chaos breathe the charm of life,
Restore the dissonant to harmony

And bid the jarring individual be

A chord, that, in the general consecration,
Bears part with all in musical relation?
Who to the tempest's rage can give a voice
Like human passion? bid the serious mind
Glow with the colouring of the sunset hours?
Who in the dear path scatter spring's first flowers,
When wanders forth the ladye of his choice?
Who of the valueless green leaves can bind
A wreath-the artist's proudest ornament-
Or, round the conquering hero's brow entwined
The best reward his country can present?
(Whose voice is fame? who gives us to inherit
Olympus, and the loved Elysian field?

The soul of man sublimed-man's soaring spirit

Seen in the poet, gloriously revealed.

Mr. Merry. A poet yet should regulate his fancies,, o Like that of life should get up his romances;

First a chance meeting-then the young folk tarry

Together-toy and trifle, sigh and marry,

Are link'd for ever, scarcely half intending it,

Once met 'tis fixed-no changing and no mending it.
Thus a romance runs: fortune, then reverses;
Rapture, then coldness; bridal dresses-hearses;
The lady dying-letters from the lover,
And, ere you think of it, the thing is over.
Shift your scenes rapidly; write fast and gaily,
<Give, in your play, the life we witness daily;

The life which all men live, yet few men notice,
Yet which will please ('tis very strange, but so 'tis),
Will please, when forced again on their attention,
More than the wonders of remote invention;

Glimmerings of truth-calm sentiment-smart strictures--
Actors in bustle-clouds of moving pictures—

The young will crowd to see a work, revealing
Their own hearts to themselves; in solitude
Will feast on the remembered visions-stealing 20
For frenzied passion its voluptuous food:

Unbidden smiles and tears unconscious start.

For oh

the secrets of the poet's art,

What are they but the dreams of the young heart?
Oh! 'tis the young enjoy the poet's mood,
Float with him on imagination's wing,

Think all his thoughts, are his in everything,
Are, while they dream not of it, all they see:
Youth-youth is the true time for sympathy.
This is the sort of drink to take the town;
Flavour it to their taste, they gulp it down.
Your true admirer is the generous spirit,
Unformed, unspoiled, he feels all kindred merit
As if of his own being it were part,

And growing with the growth of his own heart;
Feels gratitude, because he feels that truth

Is taught him by the poet-this is Youth;

Nothing can please your grown ones, they're so knowing, And no one thanks the poet but the growing.

Poet. Give me, oh! give me back the days

When I-I too-was young

And felt, as they now feel, each coming hour

New consciousness of power.

Oh happy, happy time, above all praise!

Then thoughts on thoughts and crowding fancies sprung, And found a language in unbidden lays;

Unintermitted streams from fountains ever flowing.

Then, as I wander'd free,

In every field, for me

Its thousand flowers were blowing! 2
A veil through which I did not see,
A thin veil o'er the world was thrown,
In every bud a mystery;

Magic in everything unknown :—

[The fields, the grove, the air was haunted,

And all that age has disenchanted. (Yes! give me give me back the days of youth, Poor, yet how rich !-my glad inheritance "The inextinguishable love of truth,

While life's realities were all romance

[Give me, oh! give youth's passions unconfined, The rush of joy that felt almost like pain,

Its hate, its love, its own tumultuous mind ;

Give me my youth again!

< Mr. Merry. Why, my dear friend, for youth thus sigh

and prattle,

'Twould be a very good thing in a battle;

Or on your arm if a fine girl were leaning,

Then, I admit, the wish would have some meaning;

In running for a bet, to clear the distance,

A young man's sinews would be some assistance; S
Or if, after a dance, a man was thinking

Of reeling out the night in glorious drinking;
But you have only among chords, well known
Of the familiar harp, with graceful finger
[Freely to stray at large, or fondly linger,
Courting some wandering fancies of your own;
While, with capricious windings and delays,
Loitering, or lost in an enchanted maze
Of sweet sounds, the rich melody, at will
Gliding, here rests, here indolently strays,
Is ever free, yet evermore obeys

The hidden guide, that journeys with it still.
This is, old gentleman, your occupation,

Nor think that it makes less our veneration.

'Age," says the song, "the faculties bewildering,

Renders men childish "-no! it finds them children.

Man. Come, come, no more of this absurd inventory Of flattering phrases-courteous-complimentary.

You both lose time in words unnecessary,
[Playing with language thus at fetch and carry ;
Think not of tuning now or preparation,
(Strike up, my boy-no fear no hesitation,
Till you commence no chance of inspiration.
But once assume the poet-then the fire
From heaven will come to kindle and inspire.
Strong drink is what we want to gull the people,
A hearty, brisk, and animating tipple;
Come, come, no more delay, no more excuses,
The stuff we ask you for, at once produce us.
Lose this day loitering-'twill be the same story 330
To-morrow-and the next more dilatory;
Then indecision brings its own delays,

And days are lost lamenting o'er lost days.
Are you in earnest ? seize this very minute—
What you can do, or dream you can, begin it,
Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.
Only engage, and then the mind grows heated-
A Begin it, and the work will be completed !

You know our German bards, like bold adventurers,
Bring out whate'er they please, and laugh at censurers, 4
Then do not think to-day of sparing scenery-

Command enough of dresses and machinery;
Use as you please-fire, water, thunder, levin—
The greater and the lesser lights of heaven.
Squander away the stars at your free pleasure,
And build up rocks and mountains without measure.
Of birds and beasts we've plenty here to lavish,
Come, cast away all apprehensions slavish—
Strut, on our narrow stage, with lofty stature,

As moving through the circle of wide nature. 3

With swiftest speed, in calm thought weighing well [Each movement-move from heaven through earth to hell.

ㄨ

PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN

THE LORD. THE HEAVENLY HOSTS. Afterwards
MEPHISTOPHELES

The THREE ARCHANGELS come forward

Raphael. The sun, as in the ancient days,

'Mong sister stars in rival song,

His destined path observes, obeys,

And still in thunder rolls along:
New strength and full beatitude
The angels gather from his sight,
Mysterious all-yet all is good,
All fair as at the birth of light!

Gabriel. Swift, unimaginably swift,
*Soft spins the earth, and glories bright
Of mid-day Eden change and shift

To shades of deep and spectral night.

The vexed sea foams-waves leap and moan,
And chide the rocks with insult hoarse,

And wave and rock are hurried on,

XAnd suns and stars in endless course.

Michael. And winds with winds mad war maintain

From sea to land, from land to sea;

And heave round earth, a living chain
Of interwoven agency.-

Guides of the bursting thunder-peal,
Fast lightnings flash with deadly ray,

While, Lord, with Thee Thy servants feel

< Calm effluence of abiding day.

The Three. New strength and full beatitude

The angels gather from thy sight;

Mysterious all, yet all is good,

All fair as at the birth of light.

Meph. Since Thou, O Lord, dost visit us once more,

To ask how things are going on, and since