Glad eyes are glancing,
Tiny feet dancing.
Up the high ridges
Some of them clamber,
Others are skimming
Sky-lakes of amber,
Others are swimming
Over the ocean;--
All are in motion,
Life-ward all yearning,
Longingly turning
To the far-burning
Star-light of bliss.

_Mephistopheles_. He sleeps! Ye airy, tender youths, your numbers
Have sung him into sweetest slumbers!
You put me greatly in your debt by this.
Thou art not yet the man that shall hold fast the devil!
Still cheat his senses with your magic revel,
Drown him in dreams of endless youth;
But this charm-mountain on the sill to level,
I need, O rat, thy pointed tooth!
Nor need I conjure long, they're near me,
E'en now comes scampering one, who presently will hear me.

The sovereign lord of rats and mice,
Of flies and frogs and bugs and lice,
Commands thee to come forth this hour,
And gnaw this threshold with great power,
As he with oil the same shall smear--
Ha! with a skip e'en now thou'rt here!
But brisk to work! The point by which I'm cowered,
Is on the ledge, the farthest forward.
Yet one more bite, the deed is done.--
Now, Faust, until we meet again, dream on!

_Faust_. [_Waking_.] Again has witchcraft triumphed o'er me?
Was it a ghostly show, so soon withdrawn?
I dream, the devil stands himself before me--wake, to find a poodle gone!

STUDY-CHAMBER.

FAUST. MEPHISTOPHELES.

_Faust_. A knock? Walk in! Who comes again to tease me?

_Mephistopheles_. 'Tis I.

_Faust_. Come in!

_Mephistopheles_. Must say it thrice, to please me.

_Faust_. Come in then!

_Mephistopheles_. That I like to hear.
We shall, I hope, bear with each other;
For to dispel thy crotchets, brother,
As a young lord, I now appear,
In scarlet dress, trimmed with gold lacing,
A stiff silk cloak with stylish facing,
A tall cock's feather in my hat,
A long, sharp rapier to defend me,
And I advise thee, short and flat,
In the same costume to attend me;
If thou wouldst, unembarrassed, see
What sort of thing this life may be.

_Faust_. In every dress I well may feel the sore
Of this low earth-life's melancholy.
I am too old to live for folly,
Too young, to wish for nothing more.
Am I content with all creation?
Renounce! renounce! Renunciation--
Such is the everlasting song
That in the ears of all men rings,
Which every hour, our whole life long,
With brazen accents hoarsely sings.
With terror I behol