With willing steps.—Livia, quick, bring my cloak, Here. LIVIA. JUSTINA (putting on her cloak.) In this, as in a shroud of snow, may I Quench the consuming fire in which I burn, Wasting away! LISANDER. And I will go with thee. LIVIA. When I once see them safe out of the house, JUSTINA So do I confide In thy just favour, Heaven! LISANDER. Let us go. JUSTINA. Thine is the cause, great God! Turn, for my sake And for thine own, mercifully to me! SCENES FROM THE FAUST OF GOETHE. PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN. The LORD and the Host of Heaven. Enter Three Archangels. RAPHAEL. THE sun makes music as of old On its predestined circle rolled With thunder speed: the Angels even Draw strength from gazing on its glance, 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, With deep and dreadful night; the sea 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. 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, *RAPHAEL. The sun sounds, according to ancient custom, 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, Enter MEPHISTOPHELES. MEPHISTOPHELES. As thou, O Lord, once more art kind enough And ask, "How goes it with you there below?" Thou tookedst not my visits in ill part, Thou seest me here once more among thy household. Though I should scandalize this company, In the high style which they think fashionable; MICHAEL. And storms roar in emulation From sea to land from land to sea, CHORUS. Thy countenance gives the Angels strength, And all thy lofty works Are excellent as at the first 'day. Such is the 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.-Author's Note. My pathos certainly would make you laugh too, A little better would he live, hadst thou THE LORD. Have you no more to say? Do you come here MEPHISTOPHELES. No, Lord; I find all there, as ever, bad at best The Doctor? THE LORD. Knowest thou Faust? MEPHISTOPHELES. |