The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume I Part 46

Note him! What takest thou the brute to be?

WAGNER

But for a poodle, whom his instinct serves His master's track to find once more.

FAUST

Dost mark how round us, with wide spiral curves, He wheels, each circle closer than before?

And, if I err not, he appears to me A line of 'fire upon his track to leave.

WAGNER

Naught but a poodle black of hue I see; 'Tis some illusion doth your sight deceive.

FAUST

Methinks a magic coil our feet around, He for a future snare doth lightly spread.

WAGNER

Around us as in doubt I see him shyly bound, Since he two strangers seeth in his master's stead.

FAUST

The circle narrows, he's already near!

WAGNER

A dog dost see, no spectre have we here; He growls, doubts, lays him on his belly too, And wags his tail-as dogs are wont to do.

FAUST

Come hither, Sirrah! join our company!

WAGNER

A very poodle, he appears to be!

Thou standest still, for thee he'll wait; Thou speak'st to him, he fawns upon thee straight; Aught thou mayst lose, again he'll bring, And for thy stick will into water spring.

FAUST

Thou'rt right indeed; no traces now I see Whatever of a spirit's agency, 'Tis training--nothing more.

WAGNER

A dog well taught E'en by the wisest of us may be sought.

Ay, to your favor he's ent.i.tled too, Apt scholar of the students, 'tis his due!

[_They enter the gate of the town_.]

STUDY

FAUST (_entering with, the poodle_)

Now field and meadow I've forsaken; O'er them deep night her veil doth draw; In us the better soul doth waken, With feelings of foreboding awe.

All lawless promptings, deeds unholy, Now slumber, and all wild desires; The love of man doth sway us wholly, And love to G.o.d the soul inspires.

Peace, poodle, peace! Scamper not thus; obey me!

Why at the threshold snuffest thou so?

Behind the stove now quietly lay thee, My softest cus.h.i.+on to thee I'll throw.

As thou, without, didst please and amuse me, Running and frisking about on the hill, So tendance now I will not refuse thee; A welcome guest, if thou'lt be still.

Ah! when the friendly taper gloweth, Once more within our narrow cell, Then in the heart itself that knoweth, A light the darkness doth dispel.

Reason her voice resumes; returneth Hope's gracious bloom, with promise rife; For streams of life the spirit yearneth, Ah! for the very fount of life.

Poodle, snarl not! with the tone that arises, Hallow'd and peaceful, my soul within, Accords not thy growl, thy b.e.s.t.i.a.l din.

We find it not strange, that man despises What he conceives not; That he the good and fair misprizes-- Finding them often beyond his ken; Will the dog snarl at them like men?

But ah! Despite my will, it stands confessed; Contentment welleth up no longer in my breast.

Yet wherefore must the stream, alas, so soon be dry, That we once more athirst should lie?

Full oft this sad experience hath been mine; Nathless the want admits of compensation; For things above the earth we learn to pine, Our spirits yearn for revelation, Which nowhere burns with purer beauty blent, Than here in the New Testament.

To ope the ancient text an impulse strong Impels me, and its sacred lore, With honest purpose to explore, And render into my loved German tongue.

[_He opens a volume and applies himself to it_.]

'Tis writ, "In the beginning was the Word!"

I pause, perplex'd! Who now will help afford?

I cannot the mere Word so highly prize; I must translate it otherwise, If by the spirit guided as I read.

"In the beginning was the Sense!" Take heed, The import of this primal sentence weigh, Lest thy too hasty pen be led astray!

Is force creative then of Sense the dower?

"In the beginning was the Power!"

Thus should it stand: yet, while the line I trace, A something warns me, once more to efface.

The spirit aids! from anxious scruples freed, I write, "In the beginning was the Deed!"

Am I with thee my room to share, Poodle, thy barking now forbear, Forbear thy howling!

Comrade so noisy, ever growling, I cannot suffer here to dwell.

One or the other, mark me well, Forthwith must leave the cell.

I'm loath the guest-right to withhold; The door's ajar, the pa.s.sage clear; But what must now mine eyes behold!

Are nature's laws suspended here?

Real is it, or a phantom show?

In length and breadth how doth my poodle grow!

He lifts himself with threat'ning mien, In likeness of a dog no longer seen!

What spectre have I harbor'd thus!

Huge as a hippopotamus, With fiery eye, terrific tooth!

Ah! now I know thee, sure enough!

For such a base, half-h.e.l.lish brood, The key of Solomon is good.

SPIRITS (_without_)