Hover above;
Yearning affections, too,

In their train move. 
See how the spirit-band,
By the soft breezes fann’d,
Covers the smiling land,—­
Covers the leafy grove,
Where happy lovers rove,
Deep in a dream of love,
True love that never dies! 
Bowers on bowers rise,

Soft tendrils twine;
While from the press escapes,
Born of the juicy grapes,

Foaming, the wine;
And as the current flows
O’er the bright stones it goes,—­
Leaving the hilly lands

Far, far behind,—­
Into a sea expands,

Loving to wind
Round the green mountain’s base;
And the glad-winged race,

Rapture sip in,
As they the sunny light,
And the fair islands bright,

Hasten to win,
That on the billows play
With sweet deceptive ray,
Where in glad choral song
Shout the exulting throng;
Where on the verdant plain

Dancers we see,
Spreading themselves amain

Over the lea. 
Some boldly climbing are

O’er the steep brake,
Others are floating far

O’er the smooth lake. 
All for a purpose move,

All with life teem,
While the sweet stars above

Blissfully gleam.

V.
Margaret at her spinning-wheel.

My heart is sad,

My peace is o’er;
I find it never

And nevermore.

When gone is he,
The grave I see;
The world’s wide all
Is turned to gall.

Alas, my head

Is well-nigh crazed;
My feeble mind

Is sore amazed.

My heart is sad,

My peace is o’er;
I find it never

And nevermore.

For him from the window

Alone I spy;
For him alone

From home go I.

His lofty step,

His noble form,
His mouth’s sweet smile,

His glances warm,

His voice so fraught

With magic bliss,
His hand’s soft pressure,

And, ah, his kiss!

My heart is sad,

My peace is o’er;
I find it never

And nevermore.

My bosom yearns

For his form so fair;
Ah, could I clasp him

And hold him there!

My kisses sweet

Should stop his breath,
And ’neath his kisses

I’d sink in death!

VI. 
Scene—­A garden,

Margaret.  Faust.

Margaret.

Dost thou believe in God?

Faust.

Doth mortal live

Who dares to say that he believes in God? 
Go, bid the priest a truthful answer give,

Go, ask the wisest who on earth e’er trod,—­
Their answer will appear to be
Given alone in mockery.

Margaret.

Then thou dost not believe?  This sayest thou?