In motley pictures little light,
Much error, and of truth a glimmering mite, Thus the best beverage is supplied,
Whence all the world is cheered and edified. Then, at your play, behold the fairest flower Of youth collect, to hear the revelation! Each tender soul, with sentimental power, Sucks melancholy food from your creation;
And now in this, now that, the leaven works.
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For each beholds what in his bosom lurks.
They still are moved at once to weeping or to laughter,
Still wonder at your flights, enjoy the show they see:
A mind, once formed, is never suited after; One yet in growth will ever grateful be.
POET
Then give me back that time of pleasures, While yet in joyous growth I sang,-- When, like a fount, the crowding measures Uninterrupted gushed and sprang!
Then bright mist veiled the world before me, In opening buds a marvel woke,
As I the thousand blossoms broke, Which every valley richly bore me!
I nothing had, and yet enough for youth-- Joy in Illusion, ardent thirst for Truth. Give, unrestrained, the old emotion,
The bliss that touched the verge of pain,
The strength of Hate, Love's deep devotion,--
O, give me back my youth again! MERRY ANDREW
Youth, good my friend, you certainly require
When foes in combat sorely press you; When lovely maids, in fond desire, Hang on your bosom and caress you;
When from the hard-won goal the wreath
Beckons afar, the race awaiting; When, after dancing out your breath, You pass the night in dissipating:-- But that familiar harp with soul
To play,--with grace and bold expression,
And towards a self-erected goal
To walk with many a sweet digression,--
This, aged Sirs, belongs to you,
And we no less revere you for that reason: Age childish makes, they say, but 'tis not true; We're only genuine children still, in Age's season!
MANAGER
The words you've bandied are sufficient;
'Tis deeds that I prefer to see:
In compliments you're both proficient, But might, the while, more useful be. What need to talk of Inspiration?
'Tis no companion of Delay. If Poetry be your vocation, Let Poetry your will obey!
Full well you know what here is wanting; The crowd for strongest drink is panting, And such, forthwith, I'd have you brew.
What's left undone to-day, To-morrow will not do. Waste not a day in vain digression:
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With resolute, courageous trust
Seize every possible impression,
And make it firmly your possession; You'll then work on, because you must. Upon our German stage, you know it, Each tries his hand at what he will;
So, take of traps and scenes your fill, And all you find, be sure to show it!
Use both the great and lesser heavenly light,--
Squander the stars in any number,
Beasts, birds, trees, rocks, and all such lumber, Fire, water, darkness, Day and Night!
Thus, in our booth's contracted sphere, The circle of Creation will appear,
And move, as we deliberately impel, From Heaven, across the World, to Hell!
PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN
THE LORD === THE HEAVENLY HOST Afterwards
MEPHISTOPHELES
(The THREE ARCHANGELS come forward.)
RAPHAEL
The sun-orb sings, in emulation,
'Mid brother-spheres, his ancient round: His path predestined through Creation He ends with step of thunder-sound. The angels from his visage splendid
Draw power, whose measure none can say; The lofty works, uncomprehended,
Are bright as on the earliest day.
GABRIEL
And swift, and swift beyond conceiving, The splendor of the world goes round, Day's Eden-brightness still relieving
The awful Night's intense profound: The ocean-tides in foam are breaking, Against the rocks' deep bases hurled,
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And both, the spheric race partaking, Eternal, swift, are onward whirled!
MICHAEL
And rival storms abroad are surging From sea to land, from land to sea. A chain of deepest action forging Round all, in wrathful energy.
There flames a desolation, blazing
Before the Thunder's crashing way:
Yet, Lord, Thy messengers are praising
The gentle movement of Thy Day.
THE THREE
Though still by them uncomprehended, From these the angels draw their power, And all Thy works, sublime and splendid, Are bright as in Creation's hour.
MEPHISTOPHELES
Since Thou, O Lord, deign'st to approach again
And ask us how we do, in manner kindest, And heretofore to meet myself wert fain,
Among Thy menials, now, my face Thou findest.
Pardon, this troop I cannot follow after
With lofty speech, though by them scorned and spurned: My pathos certainly would move Thy laughter,
If Thou hadst not all merriment unlearned.
Of suns and worlds I've nothing to be quoted; How men torment themselves, is all I've noted.
The little god o' the world sticks to the same old way, And is as whimsical as on Creation's day.
Life somewhat better might content him,
But for the gleam of heavenly light which Thou hast lent him:
He calls it Reason--thence his power's increased,
To be far beastlier than any beast.
Saving Thy Gracious Presence, he to me A long-legged grasshopper appears to be, That springing flies, and flying springs, And in the grass the same old ditty sings.
Would he still lay among the grass he grows in! Each bit of dung he seeks, to stick his nose in.
THE LORD
Hast thou, then, nothing more to mention? Com'st ever, thus, with ill intention?
Find'st nothing right on earth, eternally?
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MEPHISTOPHELES
No, Lord! I find things, there, still bad as they can be.
Man's misery even to pity moves my nature;
I've scarce the heart to plague the wretched creature.
THE LORD Know'st Faust?
MEPHISTOPHELES The Doctor Faust?
THE LORD My servant, he!
MEPHISTOPHELES
Forsooth! He serves you after strange devices:
No earthly meat or drink the fool suffices:
His spirit's ferment far aspireth;
Half conscious of his frenzied, crazed unrest, The fairest stars from Heaven he requireth, From Earth the highest raptures and the best, And all the Near and Far that he desireth
Fails to subdue the tumult