FAUSTUS. Why yes! they call it knowledge. Who may dare To name things by their real names? The few to expose eyes of men, They have been nailed to crosses thrown to flames. Pardon me; but 'tis very late, my friend; WAGNER. How willingly would I sit up for ever, You must permit me a few questions more : I have been diligent in all my studies; Given my whole heart and time to the pursuit ; FAUSTUS (alone). [Exit. How hope abandons not the meanest mind! Worms dust; is happy among dust and worms! And did human accents dare To disturb the midnight air With their mean and worthless sound, When I thank thee from my very heart. Image of God! I thought that I had been Sublimed from earth, no more a child of clay, That, shining gloriously with Heaven's own day, I had beheld Truth's countenance serene. High above cherubs above all that serve, Raised up immeasurably every nerve Of Nature's life seemed animate with mine; Her very veins with blood from my veins filledHer spirit moving as my spirit willed; Then did I in creations of my own (Oh, is not man in every thing divine!) Build worlds — or bidding them no longer be Exert, enjoy a sense of deity – Doomed for such dreams presumptuous to atone; All by one word of thunder overthrown! Spirit, I may not mete myself with thee! True, I compelled thee to appear, But had no power to hold thee here. Oh! at that glorious moment how I felt Thy presence flung me shuddering back That inexplicable trance Of utter, hopeless ignorance! Who now shall teach me? what shall I avoid? Shall I resist this impulse, or obey? What is this life of ours? alike destroyed By what we do or suffer! - will the day Come never, when it is to be enjoyed? Whate'er of noblest and of best Inseparably. Oh! when we obtain The goods of this world, soon do we restrain our true life dies-'mong the low cares of earth. How boldly, in the days of youthful Hope, And all we loved in life's strange whirl is wrecked! Deep in the breast Care builds her nest, And ever-torturing scares all rest: Of fire and flood- of dirk and bowl. Man trembles thus each hour at fancied crosses, Am not I like the gods? Alas! I tremble, Feeling imprest upon my soul the thought Of the mean worm, whose nature I resemble. 'Tis dust, and lives in dust, and the chance tread Crushes the wretched reptile into nought. Is this not dust in which I live? This prison-place, what can it give Of life or comfort? wheresoe'er The sick eye turns, it sees one tier Along the blank high wall of shelves That darkens and confines the space Here housed in dust, with grub and moth, Shall I find here the cure I ask, Resume the edifying task Of reading, in a thousand pages, That care-worn man has, in all ages, That one, mayhap, has here and there Hollow Skull, I almost fancy I divine. A meaning in thy spectral smile. Saith it not that thy brain, like mine, Still loved, and sought the Beautiful; Loved Truth for Truth's own sake; and sought, Regardless of aught else the while, Like mine, the light of cloudless day – And, in unsatisfying thought By twilight glimmers led astray, Like mine at length sank over-wrought? |