Opens its bosom - and he seems at last

Just sinking

no a power unfelt before An impulse indescribable succeeds!

Onward, entranced, I haste to drink the beams
Of the unfading light-before me day --
And night left still behind and overhead
Wide heaven

and under me the spreading sea!

A glorious vision, while the setting sun
Is lingering! Oh, to the spirit's flight,
How faint and feeble are material wings!
Yet such our nature is, that when the lark,
High over us, unseen, in the blue sky

Thrills his heart-piercing song, we feel ourselves
Press up from earth, as 'twere in rivalry,—
And when above the savage hill of pines,

The eagle sweeps with outspread wings, and when The crane pursues, high off his homeward path, Flying o'er watery moors and wide lakes lonely!

WAGNER.

I, too, have had my hours of reverie;
But impulse such as this I never felt.

Of wood and field the eye will soon grow weary;
I'd never envy the wild birds their wings.
How different are the pleasures of the mind,
Leading from book to book, from leaf to leaf,
They make the nights of winter bright and cheerful;
They spread a sense of pleasure through the frame

And when you see some old and treasured parch

ments,

All heaven descends to your delighted senses!

FAUSTUS.

Thy heart, my friend, now knows but one desire; Oh, never learn another! in my breast,

Alas! two souls have taken their abode,

And each is struggling there for mastery!

One to the world, and the world's sensual pleasures,
Clings closely, with scarce separable organs;
The other struggles to redeem itself,

And rise from the entanglements of earth-
Still feels its true home is not here - still longs
And strives and would with violence regain
The fields, its own by birthright-realms of light
And joy, where, - Man in vain would disbelieve
The instincts of his nature, that confirm

The loved tradition, — dwelt our sires of old.

If

as 'tis said spirits be in the air,

Moving, with lordly wings, 'tween earth and heaven, And if, oh if ye listen when we call,

Come from your golden "incense-breathing" clouds,
Bear me away to new and varied life!

Oh, were the magic mantle mine, which bore
The wearer at his will to distant lands,

How little would I prize the envied robes
Of princes, and the purple pomp of kings!

WAGNER.

Venture not thus to invoke the well-known host,
Who spread, a living stream, through the waste air,
Who watch industriously man's thousand motions,
For ever active in the work of evil.

From all sides pour they on us: from the north,
With thrilling hiss, they drive their arrowy tongues;
And, speeding from the parching east, they feed
On the dry lungs, and drink the breath of life;
And the south sends them forth, at middle day,
From wildernesses dry and desolate,

To heap fresh fire upon the burning brain;
And from the west they flow, a cloudy deluge,
That, like the welcome shower of early spring,
First promises refreshment and relief,
Then rushing down, with torrents ruinous,
Involves in one unsparing desolation

Valley, and meadow-field, and beast, and man:
Ready for evil, with delight they hear,
Obey man's bidding to deceive his soul.
Like angel-ministers of Heaven they seem,
And utter falsehoods with an angel's voice.
But let's away the sky is grey already,
The air grows chill the mist is falling heavy-
At evening home's the best place for a man!
What ails thee? why, with such astonished eyes,

Dost thou stand staring into the dusk twilight? What seest thou there that can affect thee thus ?

FAUSTUS.

Do you see that black dog, where through the

blades

green

Of the soft springing corn, and the old stubble,
He runs, just glancing by them for a moment?

WAGNER.

I've seen him this while past, but thought not of him

But a rough poodle-dog, who, in the way

Of dogs, is searching for his master's footsteps.

Do

FAUSTUS.

you observe how in wide serpent circles He courses round us? nearer and yet nearer Each turn, and if my eyes do not deceive me, Sparkles of fire whirl where his foot hath touched

WAGNER.

I can see nothing more than a black dog;
It must be some deception of your eyes.

FAUSTUS.

Methinks he draws light magic threads around us, Hereafter to entangle and ensnare!

WAGNER.

In doubt and fear the poodle's leaping round us, Seeing two strangers in his master's stead.

FAUSTUS.

The circle, see, how much more narrow 'tis,

He's very near us!

WAGNER.

'Tis a dog, you see,

And not a spectre; see, he snarls at strangers,
Barks, lies upon his belly, wags his tail,

As all dogs do.

FAUSTUS.

We'll bring him home with us.

Come, pretty fellow !