MEPHISTOPHELES. Now, without joke, and without jest, 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 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. [Exit. EVENING. A small cleanly chamber. MARGARET, braiding and binding her hair. That in his forehead might be seen, [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; [He throws himself on the leathern chair Receive me, thou from whom the world long gone, 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. [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 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, ouretted ll. 270-2724 For thy transgression how wouldst thou atone? The greatest boaster, ah, how little then, MEPHISTOPHEles. Quick, coming from below the girl I see. FAUST. Away, away! here I return no more. |