MEPHISTOPHELES

’Tis very well! My envy oft reposes
On your twin-pair, that feed among the roses.

FAUST

Away, thou pimp!

MEPHISTOPHELES

You rail, and it is fun to me. 
The God, who fashioned youth and maid,
Perceived the noblest purpose of His trade,
And also made their opportunity. 
Go on!  It is a woe profound! 
’Tis for your sweetheart’s room you’re bound,
And not for death, indeed.

FAUST

What are, within her arms, the heavenly blisses? 
Though I be glowing with her kisses,
Do I not always share her need? 
I am the fugitive, all houseless roaming,
The monster without air or rest,
That like a cataract, down rocks and gorges foaming,
Leaps, maddened, into the abyss’s breast! 
And side-wards she, with young unwakened senses,
Within her cabin on the Alpine field
Her simple, homely life commences,
Her little world therein concealed. 
And I, God’s hate flung o’er me,
Had not enough, to thrust
The stubborn rocks before me
And strike them into dust! 
She and her peace I yet must undermine: 
Thou, Hell, hast claimed this sacrifice as thine! 
Help, Devil! through the coming pangs to push me;
What must be, let it quickly be! 
Let fall on me her fate, and also crush me,—­
One ruin whelm both her and me!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Again it seethes, again it glows! 
Thou fool, go in and comfort her! 
When such a head as thine no outlet knows,
It thinks the end must soon occur. 
Hail him, who keeps a steadfast mind! 
Thou, else, dost well the devil-nature wear: 
Naught so insipid in the world I find
As is a devil in despair.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

XV

MARGARET’S ROOM

MARGARET

(at the spinning-wheel, alone)

        My peace is gone,
        My heart is sore: 
        I never shall find it,
        Ah, nevermore!

        Save I have him near. 
        The grave is here;
        The world is gall
        And bitterness all.

        My poor weak head
        Is racked and crazed;
        My thought is lost,
        My senses mazed.

        My peace is gone,
        My heart is sore: 
        I never shall find it,
        Ah, nevermore!

        To see him, him only,
        At the pane I sit;
        To meet him, him only,
        The house I quit.

        His lofty gait,
        His noble size,
        The smile of his mouth,
        The power of his eyes,