***

SCENES FROM THE FAUST OF GOETHE.

[Published in part (Scene 2) in “The Liberal”, No. 1, 1822; in full, by Mrs. Shelley, “Posthumous Poems”, 1824.]

SCENE 1.—­PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN.

THE LORD AND THE HOST OF HEAVEN.

ENTER THREE ARCHANGELS.

RAPHAEL: 
The sun makes music as of old
Amid the rival spheres of Heaven,
On its predestined circle rolled
With thunder speed:  the Angels even
Draw strength from gazing on its glance, 5
Though none its meaning fathom may:—­
The world’s unwithered countenance
Is bright as at Creation’s day.

GABRIEL: 
And swift and swift, with rapid lightness,
The adorned Earth spins silently, 10
Alternating Elysian brightness
With deep and dreadful night; the sea
Foams in broad billows from the deep
Up to the rocks, and rocks and Ocean,
Onward, with spheres which never sleep, 15
Are hurried in eternal motion.

MICHAEL: 
And tempests in contention roar
From land to sea, from sea to land;
And, raging, weave a chain of power,
Which girds the earth, as with a band.—­ 20
A flashing desolation there,
Flames before the thunder’s way;
But Thy servants, Lord, revere
The gentle changes of Thy day.

CHORUS OF THE THREE: 
The Angels draw strength from Thy glance, 25
Though no one comprehend Thee may;—­
Thy world’s unwithered countenance
Is bright as on Creation’s day.

NOTE: 
28 (RAPHAEL: 
The sun sounds, according to ancient custom,
In the song of emulation of his brother-spheres. 
And its fore-written circle
Fulfils with a step of thunder. 
Its countenance gives the Angels strength
Though no one can fathom it. 
The incredible high works
Are excellent as at the first day.

GABRIEL: 
And swift, and inconceivably swift
The adornment of earth winds itself round,
And exchanges Paradise-clearness
With deep dreadful night. 
The sea foams in broad waves
From its deep bottom, up to the rocks,
And rocks and sea are torn on together
In the eternal swift course of the spheres.

MICHAEL: 
And storms roar in emulation
From sea to land, from land to sea,
And make, raging, a chain
Of deepest operation round about. 
There flames a flashing destruction
Before the path of the thunderbolt. 
But Thy servants, Lord, revere
The gentle alternations of Thy day.

CHORUS: 
Thy countenance gives the Angels strength,
Though none can comprehend Thee: 
And all Thy lofty works
Are excellent as at the first day.

Such is a literal translation of this astonishing chorus; it is impossible to represent in another language the melody of the versification; even the volatile strength and delicacy of the ideas escape in the crucible of translation, and the reader is surprised to find a caput mortuum.—­[SHELLEY’S NOTE.])