ion and its firm supporter--the hope of immortality; while thirst
for independence and knowledge, pride, pleasure, malevolence, and
bitterness filled the other.

At length Faustus, according to the custom of magic, drew the horrible
circle which was for ever to remove him from the providential care of the
Omnipotent, and from the sweet ties of humanity. His eyes sparkled, his
heart beat louder, and his yellow tresses stood erect on his head. At
this moment he thought he saw his aged father and his blooming wife and
children wring their hands in despair, and fall down upon their knees to
pray for him to that Being whom he was about to renounce. "It is their
misery, it is their situation, that maddens me," he wildly shrieked, and
stamped on the ground with his foot. He now became enraged at the
weakness of his heart, and advanced towards the circle; the storm rattled
against the windows, the foundation of the house trembled: a noble
angelic figure appeared before him, exclaiming, "Stay, Faustus!" and the
following colloquy ensued:

_Faustus_. Who art thou, that disturbest my daring work?

_Figure_. I am the Genius of Man, and will save thee, if thou art to be
saved.

_Faustus_. What canst thou give me to assuage my thirst for knowledge,
and my desire for freedom and enjoyment?

_Figure_. Humility, resignation in suffering, content, and a proper
estimation of thyself; above all, an easy death, and light in the world
to come.

_Faustus_. Begone, vision of my heated fancy! I know thee by the
cunning with which thou wouldst deceive the wretches whom thou hast made
subservient to power. Begone, and hover around the brows of the beggar,
of the monk, of the debased slave, and of all those who have their hearts
fettered by unnatural bonds; and who keep their senses locked up, in
order to escape from the claws of despair. The powers of my soul require
room, and let Him who has given me it answer for its workings.

"Farewell, unhappy man," sighed the Genius, and disappeared.

Faustus cried, "Am I to be frightened on the very brink of hell by
nursery-tales? But they shall not prevent me from piercing the darkness;
I will know what the gloomy curtain conceals, which a tyrannical hand has
drawn before our eyes. And who is to blame, I repeat? Was it I that
formed myself so that trifling exertion exhausts my strength? Did I
plant in my bosom the seeds of passion? Did I place there that impulse
for aggrandisemen