Thee, boundless Nature, how make thee my own? Where you, ye beasts? Founts of all Being, shining, Whereon hang Heaven's and Earth's desire, Whereto our withered hearts aspire,--
Ye flow, ye feed: and am I vainly pining?
(He turns the leaves impatiently, and perceives the sign of the
Earth-Spirit.)
How otherwise upon me works this sign! Thou, Spirit of the Earth, art nearer: Even now my powers are loftier, clearer;
I glow, as drunk with new-made wine:
New strength and heart to meet the world incite me, The woe of earth, the bliss of earth, invite me,
And though the shock of storms may smite me,
No crash of shipwreck shall have power to fright me!
Clouds gather over me--
The moon conceals her light-- The lamp's extinguished!--
Mists rise,--red, angry rays are darting
Around my head!--There falls A horror from the vaulted roof, And seizes me!
I feel thy presence, Spirit I invoke! Reveal thyself !
Ha! in my heart what rending stroke! With new impulsion
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My senses heave in this convulsion!
I feel thee draw my heart, absorb, exhaust me:
Thou must! thou must! and though my life it cost me!
(He seizes the book, and mysteriously pronounces the sign of
the Spirit. A ruddy flame flashes: the Spirit appears in the flame.)
SPIRIT
Who calls me?
FAUST (with averted head) Terrible to see!
SPIRIT
Me hast thou long with might attracted, Long from my sphere thy food exacted, And now--
FAUST
Woe! I endure not thee!
SPIRIT
To view me is thine aspiration,
My voice to hear, my countenance to see; Thy powerful yearning moveth me,
Here am I!--what mean perturbation
Thee, superhuman, shakes? Thy soul's high calling, where? Where is the breast, which from itself a world did bear, And shaped and cherished--which with joy expanded,
To be our peer, with us, the Spirits, banded?
Where art thou, Faust, whose voice has pierced to me, Who towards me pressed with all thine energy?
He art thou, who, my presence breathing, seeing, Trembles through all the depths of being,
A writhing worm, a terror-stricken form?
FAUST
Thee, form of flame, shall I then fear?
Yes, I am Faust: I am thy peer!
SPIRIT
In the tides of Life, in Action's storm,
A fluctuant wave,
A shuttle free,
Birth and the Grave,
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An eternal sea,
A weaving, flowing
Life, all-glowing,
Thus at Time's humming loom 'tis my hand prepares
The garment of Life which the Deity wears!
FAUST
Thou, who around the wide world wendest, Thou busy Spirit, how near I feel to thee!
SPIRIT
Thou'rt like the Spirit which thou comprehendest, Not me!
(Disappears.)
FAUST (overwhelmed) Not thee!
Whom then?
I, image of the Godhead! Not even like thee!
(A knock).
O Death!--I know it--'tis my Famulus! My fairest luck finds no fruition:
In all the fullness of my vision
The soulless sneak disturbs me thus!
(Enter WAGNER, in dressing-gown and night-cap, a lamp in his hand. FAUST turns impatiently.)
WAGNER
Pardon, I heard your declamation;
'Twas sure an old Greek tragedy you read? In such an art I crave some preparation, Since now it stands one in good stead.
I've often heard it said, a preacher
Might learn, with a comedian for a teacher.
FAUST
Yes, when the priest comedian is by nature, As haply now and then the case may be.
WAGNER
Ah, when one studies thus, a prisoned creature,
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That scarce the world on holidays can see,--
Scarce through a glass, by rare occasion, How shall one lead it by persuasion?
FAUST
You'll ne'er attain it, save you know the feeling, Save from the soul it rises clear,
Serene in primal strength, compelling The hearts and minds of all who hear. You sit forever gluing, patching;
You cook the scraps from others' fare; And from your heap of ashes hatching A starveling flame, ye blow it bare!
Take children's, monkeys' gaze admiring, If such your taste, and be content;
But ne'er from heart to heart you'll speak inspiring, Save your own heart is eloquent!
WAGNER
Yet through delivery orators succeed; I feel that I am far behind, indeed.
FAUST
Seek thou the honest recompense! Beware, a tinkling fool to be!
With little art, clear wit and sense
Suggest their own delivery;
And if thou'rt moved to speak in earnest, What need, that after words thou yearnest?
Yes, your discourses, with their glittering show, Where ye for men twist shredded thought like paper, Are unrefreshing as the winds that blow
The rustling leaves through chill autumnal vapor!
WAGNER
Ah, God! but Art is long,
And Life, alas! is fleeting.
And oft, with zeal my critic-duties meeting, In head and breast there's something wrong.
How hard it is to compass the assistance
Whereby one rises to the source!
And, haply, ere one travels half the course
Must the poor devil quit existence.
FAUST
Is parchment, then, the holy fount before thee, A draught wherefrom thy thirst forever slakes?
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No true refreshment can restore thee,
Save what from thine own soul spontaneous breaks.
WAGNER
Pardon! a great delight is granted
When, in the spirit of the ages planted,
We mark how, ere our times, a sage has thought,
And then, how far his work, and grandly, we have brought.
FAUST
O yes, up to the stars at last!
Listen, my friend: the ages that are past