endless love, thy faith assuring,
The one almighty force enduring,--
Will that, too, prompt this heart of thine?

FAUST

Hold! hold! It will!--If such my flame,
And for the sense and power intense
I seek, and cannot find, a name;
Then range with all my senses through creation,
Craving the speech of inspiration,
And call this ardor, so supernal,
Endless, eternal and eternal,--
Is that a devilish lying game?

MEPHISTOPHELES

And yet I'm right!

FAUST

Mark this, I beg of thee!
And spare my lungs henceforth: whoever
Intends to have the right, if but his
tongue be clever,
Will have it, certainly.
But come: the further talking brings
disgust,
For thou art right, especially since I
must.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

XII

GARDEN

(MARGARET _on_ FAUST'S _arm_. MARTHA _and_ MEPHISTOPHELES
_walking up and down_.)

MARGARET

I feel, the gentleman allows for me,
Demeans himself, and shames me by it;
A traveller is so used to be
Kindly content with any diet.
I know too well that my poor gossip can
Ne'er entertain such an experienced man.

FAUST

A look from thee, a word, more entertains
Than all the lore of wisest brains.

(_He kisses her hand_.)

MARGARET

Don't incommode yourself! How could you ever kiss it!
It is so ugly, rough to see!
What work I do,--how hard and steady is it!
Mother is much too close with me.

[_They pass_.

MARTHA

And you, Sir, travel always, do you not?

MEPHISTOPHELES

Alas, that trade and duty us so harry!
With what a pang one leaves so many a spot,
And dares not even now and then to tarry!

MARTHA

In young, wild years it suits your ways,
This round and round the world in freedom sweeping;
But then come on the evil days,
And so, as bachelor, into his grave a-creeping,
None ever found a thing to praise.

MEPHISTOPHELES

I dread to see how such a fate advances.

MARTHA

Then, worthy Sir, improve betimes your chances!

[_They pass_.

MARGARET

Yes, out of sight is out of mind!
Your courtesy an easy grace is;
But you have friends in other places,
And sensibler than I, you'll find.

FAUST

Trust me, dear heart! what men call sensible
Is oft mere vanity and narrowness.

MARGARET

How so?

FAUST

Ah, that simplicity and innocence ne'er know
Themselves, their holy value, and their spell!
That meekness, lowliness, the highest graces
Which Nature portions out so lovingly--

MARGARET

So you but think a moment's