Make thee a victim of my baffled rage. First by dishonouring thee, and then by turning Appeal to Heaven against thee; so that Heaven Upon my fame vanish in idle thought, And as the flowret waies at morning frost, Peril is near. Livia! Lisander. Enter LISANDER and LIVIA. [Exit. A man go forth from my apartment now ? I scarce sustain myself! Which led to this apartment were all locked. Livia (aside.) I dare say it was Moscon whom she saw, For he was locked up in my room. Lis. It must Have been some image of thy phantasy. Justina. Oh, would it were Even in the temple of the highest God Justina (putting on her cloak.) Quench the consuming fire in which I burn, Lis. And will go with thee. Livia. When I once see them safe out of the house I shall breathe freely. Justina. So do I confide Let us go. In thy just favour, Heaven! Lis. Justina. Thine is the cause, great God! Turn, for my sake And for thine own, mercifully to me! 307 SCENES FROM THE FAUST OF GOETHE, PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN. The Lord and the Host of Heaven. Enter three Archangels. Raphael. THE sun makes music as of old Amid the rival spheres of Heaven, On its predestined circle rolled With thunder speed: the Angels even Draw strength from gazing on its glance, Gabriel. And swift and swift, with rapid lightness, With deep and dreadful night; the sea Mich. And tempests in contention roar Flames before the thunder's way; But thy servants, Lord, revere The gentle changes of thy day. Chorus of the Three. The Angels draw strength from thy glance, *Raphael. The sun sounds, according to ancient custom, In the song of emulation of his brother-spheres, And its fore written circle Fulfils with a step of thunder. Its countenance gives the Angels strength, Though no one can fathom it. The incredible high works Are excellent as at the first day. Gabriel. And swift, and inconceivably swift The adornment of earth winds itself round, And exchanges Faradise-clearness With deep dreadful night. The sea foams tu broad waves From its deep bottom up to the rocks, And rocks and sea are torn on together Michael. And storms roar in emulation The gentle alternations of thy day. Chorus. Thy countenance gives the Angels strength, And all thy lofty works Are excellent as at the first day. Such is a literal translation of this astonishing Chorus; it is impossible to represent in another language the melody of the versification; even the volatile strength and delicacy of the ideas escape in the crucible of translation, and the reader is surprised to find a caput mortuum. -Author's Note. Enter MEPHISTOPHELES. Mephistopheles. enough As thou, O Lord, once more art kind To interest thyself in our affairs And ask, "How goes it with you there below ?" And as indulgently at other times Thou tookedst not my visits in ill part, Thou seest me here once more among thy household. You will excuse me if I do not talk In the high style which they think fashionable; A little better would he live, hadst thou The Lord. Have you no more to say? Do you come here Always to scold, and cavil, and complain ? Seems nothing ever right to you on earth? Meph. No, Lord! I find all there, as ever, bad at best. Even I am sorry for man's days of sorrow; I could myself almost give up the pleasure |