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MEPHISTOPHELES.

Now, without joke, and without jest,
I tell you, with that maiden bright
Things cannot be so hotly pressed;
Here we by storm can nothing take,
With stratagem our way must make.

FAUST.

Bring me some token of that child of heaven, Or lead me to her place of rest.

Bring me a kerchief from her breast, A garter of my charmer even.

MEPHISTOPHeles.

That you may see that to your woes
I proffer service free and fair,

Not one moment will we lose ;

To-day into her room you will I bear.

FAUST.

And shall I see her?-possess her?

MEPHISTOPHELES.

No;

She will be in a friend's house near,

So that you can in solitude,

In hope of new beatitude,

Revel unchecked in her sweet atmosphere.

FAUST.

Can we at once into her chamber go?

MEPHISTOPHELES.

Not so; it is too early yet.

FAUST.

Some present for her see and get.

MEPHISTOPHELES.

Presents already; right, he'll sure succeed.
I know of many a well-lined place, indeed,
And many a treasure long hid in the ground,
I must a little look once more around.

[Exit.

EVENING.

A small cleanly chamber.

MARGARET, braiding and binding her hair.
Something I'd give, did I but know
Who that gentleman might be ;
Right gallant did his bearing show,
And he's of noble family.

That in his forehead might be seen,
He had not else so forward been.

[Exit.

FAUST.

MEPHISTOPHEles.

MEPHISTOPHELES.

Come in, quite softly, but come in.

FAUST, after a short silence.

Oh, leave me here alone, I pray.

MEPHISTOPHELES, looking round.

Not every maid has things so clean.

FAUST, gazing about.

Welcome, sweet twilight's glimmering ray,

That dimly on this hallowed spot doth brood;
Seize on my heart, oh Love's delicious pan, pav
That pining makest the Dew of Hope thy food.
Oh, what a sense of stillness here doth reign,
Breathing what order, what contentedness,
What plenty doth this poverty contain,
And in this dungeon even what blessedness.

[He throws himself on the leathern chair
by the bed.

Receive me, thou from whom the world long gone,
In weal and woe a welcome oft have found ;
How often circling the paternal throne,

Thee have a host of children clustered round. Perchance, too, thankful for her Christmas gift, With childhood's chubby cheeks, my darling here In pious fondness to her lips would lift

The hand all withered of her grandsire dear.
Maiden, I feel thy spirit hovering near,
That mother-like doth teach thee, day by day,
The table, with its snow-white cloth to lay,
To strew the sand that crisps beneath thy feet.
Oh, that dear hand, that godlike hand of thine.
Through thee this hut becomes a realm divine.
And here-

[He raises a bed curtain.

What a delicious trembling, blissful fear

Seizes me. Long hours could I linger here.

Nature! Here, in dreams of lightness,

Broughtest thou this angel-born to perfect brightness.

Here lay the child, with glowing life,

Its tender bosom ever rife.

And here each impulse, sanctified and pure,

The godlike image did itself mature.

And thou, what tempted thee in here to steal?
What deep heartfelt emotion do I feel.

What wouldst thou here? why doth thy heart sink

so?

Poor mean-souled Faust, thee I no longer know.

And if this moment she returned again,

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For thy transgression how wouldst thou atone?

The greatest boaster, ah, how little then,
Melted to reverence at her feet lay thrown.

MEPHISTOPHEles.

Quick, coming from below the girl I see.

FAUST.

Away, away! here I return no more.

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