rn chair by the bed_.]
Take me, too! as thou hast, in years long flown,
In joy and grief, so many a generation!
Ah me! how oft, on this ancestral throne,
Have troops of children climbed with exultation!
Perhaps, when Christmas brought the Holy Guest,
My love has here, in grateful veneration
The grandsire's withered hand with child-lips prest.
I feel, O maiden, circling me,
Thy spirit of grace and fulness hover,
Which daily like a mother teaches thee
The table-cloth to spread in snowy purity,
And even, with crinkled sand the floor to cover.
Dear, godlike hand! a touch of thine
Makes this low house a heavenly kingdom slime!
And here!
[_He lifts a bed-curtain_.]
What blissful awe my heart thrills through!
Here for long hours could I linger.
Here, Nature! in light dreams, thy airy finger
The inborn angel's features drew!
Here lay the child, when life's fresh heavings
Its tender bosom first made warm,
And here with pure, mysterious weavings
The spirit wrought its godlike form!
And thou! What brought thee here? what power
Stirs in my deepest soul this hour?
What wouldst thou here? What makes thy heart so sore?
Unhappy Faust! I know thee thus no more.
Breathe I a magic atmosphere?
The will to enjoy how strong I felt it,--
And in a dream of love am now all melted!
Are we the sport of every puff of air?
And if she suddenly should enter now,
How would she thy presumptuous folly humble!
Big John-o'dreams! ah, how wouldst thou
Sink at her feet, collapse and crumble!

_Mephistopheles_. Quick, now! She comes! I'm looking at her.

_Faust_. Away! Away! O cruel fate!

_Mephistopheles_. Here is a box of moderate weight;
I got it somewhere else--no matter!
Just shut it up, here, in the press,
I swear to you, 'twill turn her senses;
I meant the trifles, I confess,
To scale another fair one's fences.
True, child is child and play is play.

_Faust_. Shall I? I know not.

_Mephistopheles_. Why delay?
You mean perhaps to keep the bauble?
If so, I counsel you to spare
From idle passion hours so fair,
And me, henceforth, all further trouble.
I hope you are not avaricious!
I rub my hands, I scratch my head--
[_He places the casket in the press and locks it up again_.]
(Quick! Time we sped!)--
That the dear creature may be led
And moulded by your will and wishes;
And you stand here as glum,
As one at the door of the auditorium,
As if before your eyes you saw
In bodily shape, with breathless awe,
Me