Wagner.  I saw him some time since, he seemed not strange to me.

Faust.  Look sharply!  What dost take the beast to be?

Wagner.  For some poor poodle who has lost his master, And, dog-like, scents him o’er the ground.

Faust.  Markst thou how, ever nearer, ever faster,
Towards us his spiral track wheels round and round? 
And if my senses suffer no confusion,
Behind him trails a fiery glare.

Wagner.  ’Tis probably an optical illusion; I still see only a black poodle there.

Faust.  He seems to me as he were tracing slyly His magic rings our feet at last to snare.

Wagner.  To me he seems to dart around our steps so shyly, As if he said:  is one of them my master there?

Faust.  The circle narrows, he is near!

Wagner.  Thou seest! a dog we have, no spectre, here!  He growls and stops, crawls on his belly, too, And wags his tail,—­as all dogs do.

Faust.  Come here, sir! come, our comrade be!

Wagner.  He has a poodle’s drollery. 
Stand still, and he, too, waits to see;
Speak to him, and he jumps on thee;
Lose something, drop thy cane or sling it
Into the stream, he’ll run and bring it.

Faust.  I think you’re right; I trace no spirit here, ’Tis all the fruit of training, that is clear.

Wagner.  A well-trained dog is a great treasure,
Wise men in such will oft take pleasure. 
And he deserves your favor and a collar,
He, of the students the accomplished scholar.

          [They go in through the town gate.]

      STUDY-CHAMBER.

      Enter FAUST with the POODLE.

I leave behind me field and meadow
Veiled in the dusk of holy night,
Whose ominous and awful shadow
Awakes the better soul to light. 
To sleep are lulled the wild desires,
The hand of passion lies at rest;
The love of man the bosom fires,
The love of God stirs up the breast.

Be quiet, poodle! what worrisome fiend hath possest thee,
Nosing and snuffling so round the door? 
Go behind the stove there and rest thee,
There’s my best pillow—­what wouldst thou more? 
As, out on the mountain-paths, frisking and leaping,
Thou, to amuse us, hast done thy best,
So now in return lie still in my keeping,
A quiet, contented, and welcome guest.

When, in our narrow chamber, nightly,
The friendly lamp begins to burn,
Then in the bosom thought beams brightly,
Homeward the heart will then return. 
Reason once more bids passion ponder,
Hope blooms again and smiles on man;
Back to life’s rills he yearns to wander,
Ah! to the source where life began.

Stop growling, poodle!  In the music Elysian
That laps my soul at this holy hour,
These bestial noises have jarring power. 
We know that men will treat with derision
Whatever they cannot understand,
At goodness and truth and beauty’s vision
Will shut their eyes and murmur and howl at it;
And must the dog, too, snarl and growl at it?