FAUST

However possible,
Collect a crowd of men with vigor,
Spur by indulgence, praise, or rigor,--
Reward, allure, conscript, compel!
Each day report me, and correctly note
How grows in length the undertaken moat.

MEPHISTOPHELES [_half aloud_]

When they to me the information gave,
They spake not of a moat, but of--_a grave_.

FAUST

Below the hills a marshy plain
Infects what I so long have been retrieving;
This stagnant pool likewise to drain
Were now my latest and my best achieving.
To many millions let me furnish soil,
Though not secure, yet free to active toil;
Green, fertile fields, where men and herds go forth
At once, with comfort, on the newest earth,
And swiftly settled on the hill's firm base,
Created by the bold, industrious race.
A land like Paradise here, round about;
Up to the brink the tide may roar without,
And though it gnaw, to burst with force the limit,
By common impulse all unite to hem it.
Yes! to this thought I hold with firm persistence;
The last result of wisdom stamps it true:
He only earns his freedom and existence
Who daily conquers them anew.
Thus here, by dangers girt, shall glide away
Of childhood, manhood, age, the vigorous day:
And such a throng I fain would see,--
Stand on free soil among a people free!
Then dared I hail the Moment fleeing:
"_Ah, still delay--thou art so fair!_"
The traces cannot, of mine earthly being,
In aeons perish,--they are there!
In proud fore-feeling of such lofty bliss,
I now enjoy the highest Moment,--this!
[_Faust sinks back: the Lemures take him
and lay him upon the ground._]

MEPHISTOPHELES

No joy could sate him, and suffice no bliss!
To catch but shifting shapes was his endeavor:
The latest, poorest, emptiest Moment--this,--
He wished to hold it fast forever.
Me he resisted in such vigorous wise,
But Time is lord, on earth the old man lies.
The clock stands still--

CHORUS

Stands still! silent as midnight, now!
The index falls.

MEPHISTOPHELES

It falls; and it is finished, here!

CHORUS

'Tis past!

MEPHISTOPHELES

Past! a stupid word.
If past, then why?
Past and pure Naught, complete monotony!
What good for us, this endlessly creating?--
What is created then annihil