Why do I gaze as if a spell had bound me
Up yonder?  Is that flask a magnet to the eyes? 
What lovely light, so sudden, blooms around me? 
As when in nightly woods we hail the full-moon-rise. 
  I greet thee, rarest phial, precious potion! 
As now I take thee down with deep devotion,
In thee I venerate man’s wit and art. 
Quintessence of all soporific flowers,
Extract of all the finest deadly powers,
Thy favor to thy master now impart! 
I look on thee, the sight my pain appeases,
I handle thee, the strife of longing ceases,
The flood-tide of the spirit ebbs away. 
Far out to sea I’m drawn, sweet voices listening,
The glassy waters at my feet are glistening,
To new shores beckons me a new-born day. 
  A fiery chariot floats, on airy pinions,
To where I sit!  Willing, it beareth me,
On a new path, through ether’s blue dominions,
To untried spheres of pure activity. 
This lofty life, this bliss elysian,
Worm that thou waft erewhile, deservest thou? 
Ay, on this earthly sun, this charming vision,
Turn thy back resolutely now! 
Boldly draw near and rend the gates asunder,
By which each cowering mortal gladly steals. 
Now is the time to show by deeds of wonder
That manly greatness not to godlike glory yields;
Before that gloomy pit to stand, unfearing,
Where Fantasy self-damned in its own torment lies,
Still onward to that pass-way steering,
Around whose narrow mouth hell-flames forever rise;
Calmly to dare the step, serene, unshrinking,
Though into nothingness the hour should see thee sinking. 
  Now, then, come down from thy old case, I bid thee,
Where thou, forgotten, many a year hast hid thee,
Into thy master’s hand, pure, crystal glass! 
The joy-feasts of the fathers thou hast brightened,
The hearts of gravest guests were lightened,
When, pledged, from hand to hand they saw thee pass. 
Thy sides, with many a curious type bedight,
Which each, as with one draught he quaffed the liquor
Must read in rhyme from off the wondrous beaker,
Remind me, ah! of many a youthful night. 
I shall not hand thee now to any neighbor,
Not now to show my wit upon thy carvings labor;
Here is a juice of quick-intoxicating might. 
The rich brown flood adown thy sides is streaming,
With my own choice ingredients teeming;
Be this last draught, as morning now is gleaming,
Drained as a lofty pledge to greet the festal light!
                [He puts the goblet to his lips.

Ringing of bells and choral song.

Chorus of Angels.  Christ hath arisen! 
  Joy to humanity! 
  No more shall vanity,
  Death and inanity
  Hold thee in prison!

Faust.  What hum of music, what a radiant tone, Thrills through me, from my lips the goblet stealing!  Ye murmuring bells, already make ye known The Easter morn’s first hour, with solemn pealing?  Sing you, ye choirs, e’en now, the glad, consoling song, That once, from angel-lips, through gloom sepulchral rung, A new immortal covenant sealing?