THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTOR, IT

TILDEN F

ACT FIFTH

Scene I.-Walpurgis-Night

The Hartz Mountains. Neighborhood of Schirke and Elend. Faust and Mephistopheles.

MEPHISTOPHELES.-Would you not like a broomstick to be

stride?

Would God I had a stout old goat to ride!

The way is long; and I would rather spare me
This uphill work.

FAUST.

While my good legs can bear me,
This knotted stick will serve my end.
What boots it to cut short the way?

Through the long labyrinth of vales to wend,
These rugged mountain-steeps to climb,
And hear the gushing waters' ceaseless chime,
No better seasoning on my wish to-day

Could wait, to make the Brocken banquet prime!
The Spring is waving in the birchen bower,
And ev'n the pine begins to feel its power;
Shall we alone be strangers to its sway?

MEPHISTOPHELES.-No whiff I feel that hath a smell of May;
I am most wintry cold in every limb;

I'd sooner track my road o'er frost and snow.
How sadly mounts the imperfect moon!-so dim
Shines forth its red disc, with belated glow,
We run the risk, at every step, on stones
Or stumps of crazy trees, to break our bones.
You must allow me to request the aid

Of a Will-o-the-Wisp;-I see one right ahead,
And in the bog it blazes merrily.

Holla! my good friend! dare I be so free?

Two travellers here stand much in need of thee;

Why shouldst thou waste thy flickering flame in vain? Pray be so good as light us up the hill! WILL-O-THE-WISP.-Out of respect to you, I will restrain, If possible, my ever-shifting will;

But all our natural genius, and our skill

Is zigzag; straight lines go against the grain. MEPHISTOPHELES.-Ha! ha! hast learned from men how to

declaim?

March on, I tell thee, in the Devil's name!
Else will I blow thy flickering life-spark out.
WILL-O-THE-WISP.-You are the master of the house, no doubt,
And therefore I obey you cheerfully.

Only remember! 'tis the first of May,
The Brocken is as mad as mad can be;

And when an ignis fatuus leads the way,

You have yourselves to blame, if you should stray. FAUST, MEPHISTOPHELES, AND WILL-O-THE-WISP [in reciprocal song].-Through the realms of fairy dream

ing,

Through the air with magic teeming,
Guide us forward, guide us fairly,
Thanks to thee be rendered rarely;
Guide us quick, and guide us sure,
O'er the wide waste Brocken moor.
Trees on trees thick massed before us
Flit, and fling dark shadows o'er us,
Cliffs on cliffs in rugged masses
Nod above the narrow passes,
And each rock from jagged nose,
How it snorts, and how it blows!
Over turf and stones are pouring
Stream and streamlet, wildly roaring;
Is it rustling? is it singing?

Love's sweet plaint with gentle winging!

Voices of those days, the dearest,

When our light of hope was clearest!

And the echo, like the sounds

Of ancient story, back rebounds.
Oohoo! Shoohoo! what a riot!

Owl and pewit, jay and piet!

Will no bird to-night be quiet?
What is this? red salamanders,

With long legs and swoll'n paunches,
Weaving wreathy fire-meanders

Through the thicket's bristling branches!
And the trees, their roots outspreading
From the sand and rocky bedding,
Winding, stretching, twisting grimly,
Through the dun air darting dimly
Seek to seize us, seek to grasp us,
And with snaky coils enclasp us!
And the mice in motley muster,
Red and white, and blue and gray,
Thick as bees that hang in cluster,
Crowd along the heathy way.
And the fire-flies shooting lightly
Through the weirdly winding glade,
With bewildering escort, brightly
Lead the streaming cavalcade!
But tell me, in this strange confusion,
What is real, what delusion?

Do we walk with forward faces,

Or stand and halt with baffled paces?

All things seem to change their places,
Rocks and trees to make grimaces,
And the lights in witchy row,

Twinkle more and more they blow!
MEPHISTOPHELES.-Hold me tightly by the cue!
From this hillock, we may view,
At leisure, with admiring gaze,

How Mammon in the mount doth blaze! FAUST.-How strangely through the glooming glens Dim sheen, like morning redness, glimmers! Ev'n to the darkest, deepest dens.

With its long streaky rays it shimmers.
Here mounts the smoke, there rolls the steam,
There flames through the white vapors gleam,
Here like a thread along the mountain
It creeps; there gushes in a fountain!
Here stretching out, in many a rood,