Faust.  Is parchment, then, the holy well-spring, thinkest,
A draught from which thy thirst forever slakes? 
No quickening element thou drinkest,
Till up from thine own soul the fountain breaks.

Wagner.  Excuse me! in these olden pages
We catch the spirit of the by-gone ages,
We see what wisest men before our day have thought,
And to what glorious heights we their bequests have brought.

Faust.  O yes, we’ve reached the stars at last! 
My friend, it is to us,—­the buried past,—­
A book with seven seals protected;
Your spirit of the times is, then,
At bottom, your own spirit, gentlemen,
In which the times are seen reflected. 
And often such a mess that none can bear it;
At the first sight of it they run away. 
A dust-bin and a lumber-garret,
At most a mock-heroic play[8]
With fine, pragmatic maxims teeming,
The mouths of puppets well-beseeming!

Wagner.  But then the world! the heart and mind of man!  To know of these who would not pay attention?

Faust.  To know them, yes, as weaklings can! 
Who dares the child’s true name outright to mention? 
The few who any thing thereof have learned,
Who out of their heart’s fulness needs must gabble,
And show their thoughts and feelings to the rabble,
Have evermore been crucified and burned. 
I pray you, friend, ’tis wearing into night,
Let us adjourn here, for the present.

Wagner.  I had been glad to stay till morning light,
This learned talk with you has been so pleasant,
But the first day of Easter comes to-morrow. 
And then an hour or two I’ll borrow. 
With zeal have I applied myself to learning,
True, I know much, yet to know all am burning.
          
                                [Exit.]

Faust. [Alone.] See how in his head only, hope still lingers,
Who evermore to empty rubbish clings,
With greedy hand grubs after precious things,
And leaps for joy when some poor worm he fingers! 
  That such a human voice should dare intrude,
Where all was full of ghostly tones and features! 
Yet ah! this once, my gratitude
Is due to thee, most wretched of earth’s creatures. 
Thou snatchedst me from the despairing state
In which my senses, well nigh crazed, were sunken. 
The apparition was so giant-great,
That to a very dwarf my soul had shrunken. 
  I, godlike, who in fancy saw but now
Eternal truth’s fair glass in wondrous nearness,
Rejoiced in heavenly radiance and clearness,
Leaving the earthly man below;
I, more than cherub, whose free force
Dreamed, through the veins of nature penetrating,
To taste the life of Gods, like them creating,
Behold me this presumption expiating! 
A word of thunder sweeps me from my course. 
  Myself with thee no longer dare I measure;
Had I the power to draw thee down at pleasure;