looks one's fill of woods and fields. I shall never envy the wings of the bird. How differently the pleasures of the mind bear us, from book to book, from page to page. With them, winter nights become cheerful and bright, a happy life warms every limb, and, ah! when you unroll a precious manuscript, all heaven comes down to you. FAUST. Oh, never Thou art only conscious of one impulse. become acquainted with the other! Two souls, alas, dwell in my breast: the one struggles to separate itself from the other. The one clings with obstinate fondness to the world, with organs like cramps of steel: the other lifts itself majestically from the mist to the realms of an exalted ancestry. Oh! if there be spirits hovering in the air, ruling 'twixt earth and heaven, descend, ye, from your golden atmosphere, and lead me off to a new variegated life. Aye, were but a magic mantle mine, and could it bear me into foreign lands, I would not part with it for the costliest garments, not for a king's mantle. WAGNER. Invoke not the well-known troop, which diffuses itself, streaming, through the atmosphere, and threatens danger in a thousand forms, from every quarter, to man. The sharp-fanged spirits, with arrowy tongues, press upon you from the north; from the east, they come parching, and feed upon your lungs. If the south sends from the desart those which heap fire after fire upon thy brain; the west brings the swarm which only refreshes, to drown fields, meadows, and yourself. They are fond of listening, ever alive for mischief: they obey with pleasure, because they take pleasure to delude: they feign to be sent from heaven, and lisp like angels, when they lie. But let us be moving, the earth is already grown gray, the air is chill, and the mist is falling; it is only in the evening that we set a proper value on our home. Why do you stand still, and gaze with astonishment thus? can thus attract your attention in the gloaming? FAUST. What Seest thou the black dog ranging through the corn and stubble? WAGNER. I saw him long ago, he did not strike me as anything particular. FAUST. Mark him well! for what do you take the brute? WAGNER. For a poodle, who in poodle-fashion is puzzling out the track of his master. FAUST. Dost thou mark how, in wide spiral curves, he quests round and ever nearer us; and, if I err not, a line of fire follows upon his track. WAGNER. I see nothing but a black poodle; you may be de ceived by some optical illusion. FAUST. It appears to me, that he is drawing light magical nooses, to form a toil, around our feet. WAGNER. I see him bounding hesitatingly and shyly round us, because, instead of his master, he sees two strangers. FAUST. The circle grows narrow, he is already close. WAGNER. You see it is a dog, and no spirit. He growls and hesitates, crouches on his belly and wags with his tail— all as dogs are wont to do. FAUST. Join our company!-Hither! WAGNER. It is a poor fool of a poodle. Stand still, and he will sit on his hind legs; speak to him, and he will jump up on you; lose aught, and he will fetch it to you, and jump into the water for your stick. FAUST. You are right; I find no trace of a spirit, and all is the result of training. WAGNER. Even a wise man may become attached to a dog when he is well brought up. And he richly deserves all the favour you can bestow upon him,-he, the accomplished pupil of students, as he is. (They enter the gate of the town.) STUDY. FAUST, entering with the poodle. I have left field and meadow veiled in deep night, which wakes the better soul within us with a holy feeling of foreboding awe. Wild desires, with deeds of violence, are now sunk in sleep: the love of man is stirring the love of God is stirring now. Be quiet, poodle, run not hither and thither. What are you snuffling at on the threshold? Lie down behind the stove; there is my best cushion for you. As without, upon the mountain path, you amused us by running and gambolling, so now receive my kindness as a welcome quiet guest. Ah! when the lamp is again burning friendlily in our narrow cell, all becomes clear in our bosom,—in the heart which knows itself. Reason begins to speak, and hope to bloom, again; we yearn for the springs of life -oh yes, for the fountains of life, far away. Growl not, poodle; the brutish sound ill harmonises with the hallowed tones which now possess my whole soul. It is common for men to deride what they do not understand-to snarl at the good and beautiful, |