Faust — Vocabulary
Goethe (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe)
Translated by: C.T. Brooks
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  Mephistopheles. No, Lord! I find them still as bad as bad can be.
  Poor souls! their miseries seem so much to please 'em,
  I scarce can find it in my heart to tease 'em.†12 more

— All are in motion,
  Life-ward all yearning,
  Longingly turning
  To the far-burning
  Star-light of bliss.†13 more

  Spirits [in the passage]. Softly! a fellow is caught there!
  Keep back, all of you, follow him not there!
  Like the fox in the trap,
  Mourns the old hell-lynx his mishap.
  But give ye good heed!
  This way hover, that way hover,
  Over and over,
  And he shall right soon be freed.
  Help can you give him,
  O do not leave him!
  Many good turns he's done us,
  Many a fortune won us.†7 more

  There will we rest us from our wandering.
  How oft in prayer and penance there alone,
  Fasting, I sate, on holy mysteries pondering.
  There, rich in hope, in faith still firm,
  I've wept, sighed, wrung my hands and striven
  This plague's removal to extort (poor worm!)
  From the almighty Lord of Heaven.
  The crowd's applause has now a scornful tone;†5 more

  To mystify be your endeavor,
  To satisfy is labor sore....
  What ails you? Are you pleased or pained? What notion——
  Poet. Go to, and find thyself another slave!
  What! and the lofty birthright Nature gave,
  The noblest talent Heaven to man has lent,
  Thou bid'st the Poet fling to folly's ocean!
  How does he stir each deep emotion?
  How does he conquer every element?
  But by the tide of song that from his bosom springs,
  And draws into his heart all living things?
  When Nature's hand, in endless iteration,
  The thread across the whizzing spindle flings,
  When the complex, monotonous creation
  Jangles with all its million strings:
  Who, then, the long, dull series ani†6 more

  Faust. In every dress I well may feel the sore
  Of this low earth-life's melancholy.
  I am too old to live for folly,
  Too young, to wish for nothing more.
  Am I content with all creation?
  Renounce! renounce! Renunciation—Such is the everlasting song
  That in the ears of all men rings,
  Which every hour, our whole life long,
  With brazen accents hoarsely sings.
  With terror I behold each morning's light,
  With bitter tears my eyes are filling,
  To see the day that shall not in its flight
  Fulfil for me one wish, not one, but killing
  Every presentiment of zest
  With wayward skepticism, chases
  The fair creations from my breast
  With all life's thousand cold grimaces.†5 more

  Faust. [Alone.] See how in his head only, hope still lingers,
  Who evermore to empty rubbish clings,
  With greedy hand grubs after precious things,
  And leaps for joy when some poor worm he fingers!
  That such a human voice should dare intrude,
  Where all was full of ghostly tones and features!
  Yet ah! this once, my gratitude
  Is due to thee, most wretched of earth's creatures.
  Thou snatchedst me from the despairing state
  In which my senses, well nigh crazed, were sunken.
  The apparition was so giant-great,
  That to a very dwarf my soul had shrunken.
  I, godlike, who in fancy saw but now
  Eternal truth's fair glass in wondrous nearness,
  Rejoiced in hea†6 more

  Spirits. Vanish, ye gloomy
  Vaulted abysses!
  Tenderer, clearer,
  Friendlier, nearer,
  Ether, look through!
  O that the darkling
  Cloud-piles were riven!
  Starlight is sparkling,
  Purer is heaven,
  Holier sunshine
  Softens the blue.
  Graces, adorning
  Sons of the morning— Shadowy wavings— Float along over;†5 more

  Far out to sea I'm drawn, sweet voices listening,
  The glassy waters at my feet are glistening,
  To new shores beckons me a new-born day.4 more

  Where love and friendship aye create and cherish,
  With hand divine, heart-joys that never perish.
  Ah! what, from feeling's deepest fountain springing,
  Scarce from the stammering lips had faintly passed,
  Now, hopeful, venturing forth, now shyly clinging,
  To the wild moment's cry a prey is cast.
  Oft when for years the brain had heard it ringing
  It comes in full and rounded shape at last.
  What shines, is born but for the moment's pleasure;†2 more

  Mephistopheles. There's much more still, no less mysterious,
  I know it well, the whole book sounds just so!
  I've lost full many a year in poring o'er it,
  For perfect contradiction, you must know,
  A mystery stands, and fools and wise men bow before it,
  The art is old and new, my son.
  Men, in all times, by craft and terror,
  With One and Three, and Three and One,
  For truth have propagated error.
  They've gone on gabbling so a thousand years;
  Who on the fools would waste a minute?
  Man generally thinks, if words he only hears,
  Articulated noise must have some meaning in it.†1 more

  Michael. And tempests roar, glad warfare waging,
  From sea to land, from land to sea,
  And bind round all, amidst their raging,
  A chain of giant energy.
  There, lurid desolation, blazing,
  Foreruns the volleyed thunder's way:
  Yet, Lord, thy messengers[2] are praising
  The mild procession of thy day.†4 more

  The rubbish and the thousand trifles all
  That crowd these dark, moth-peopled places?
  Here shall my craving heart find rest?
  Must I perchance a thousand books turn over,
  To find that men are everywhere distrest,
  And here and there one happy one discover?
  Why grin'st thou down upon me, hollow skull?
  But that thy brain, like mine, once trembling, hoping,
  Sought the light day, yet ever sorrowful,
  Burned for the truth in vain, in twilight groping?
  Ye, instruments, of course, are mocking me;†4 more

  Striving for earthly good are we victorious?
  A dream and cheat the better part appears.
  The feelings that could once such noble life inspire
  Are quenched and trampled out in passion's mire.
  Where Fantasy, erewhile, with daring flight
  Out to the infinite her wings expanded,
  A little space can now suffice her quite,
  When hope on hope time's gulf has wrecked and stranded.
  Care builds her nest far down the heart's recesses,
  There broods o'er dark, untold distresses,
  Restless she sits, and scares thy joy and peace away;†3 more

  Wagner. What feelings, O great man, thy heart must swell
  Thus to receive a people's veneration!
  O worthy all congratulation,
  Whose gifts to such advantage tell.
  The father to his son shows thee with exultation,
  All run and crowd and ask, the circle closer draws,
  The fiddle stops, the dancers pause,
  Thou goest—the lines fall back for thee.
  They fling their gay-decked caps on high;
  A little more and they would bow the knee
  As if the blessed Host came by.†3 more

  The Lord. Hast nothing for our edification?
  Still thy old work of accusation?
  Will things on earth be never right for thee?†2 more

  The ladies give themselves and all their precious plunder
  And without wages help us play.
  On your poetic heights what dream comes o'er you?
  What glads a crowded house? Behold
  Your patrons in array before you!
  One half are raw, the other cold.
  One, after this play, hopes to play at cards,
  One a wild night to spend beside his doxy chooses,
  Poor fools, why court ye the regards,
  For such a set, of the chaste muses?
  I tell you, give them more and ever more and more,
  And then your mark you'll hardly stray from ever;†2 more

  The genuine leaves posterity a treasure.†1 more

  Faust. And thou forgav'st that liberty, of late?
  That impudence of mine, so daring,
  As thou wast home from church repairing?†1 more

  But ah, with the best will, I feel already,
  No peace will well up in me, clear and steady.
  But why must hope so soon deceive us,
  And the dried-up stream in fever leave us?
  For in this I have had a full probation.
  And yet for this want a supply is provided,
  To a higher than earth the soul is guided,
  We are ready and yearn for revelation:
  And where are its light and warmth so blent
  As here in the New Testament?
  I feel, this moment, a mighty yearning
  To expound for once the ground text of all,
  The venerable original
  Into my own loved German honestly turning.
  [He opens the volume, and applies himself to the task.]
  "In the beginning was the Word." I re†1 more