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Whom man's destroying foot, if there it strays,
“ Are they not dust, the cases there?
That here and there a luckier wight was seen,
Except to tell me that the brain within
Pulleys and rules, and wheels of toothed brass : .? At learning's door ye play the porter's part,
But would not lift the latch to let me pass.
Nor suffers man by aid like yours to find
What she refuses to the powers of mind,
I have no portion in thee, useless heap
Parchments and rolls continue still your sleep,
Better to waste the substance of my sire,
., All we possess, and use not on the road,
Adds to the burden we must bear,
Enjoyment alleviates our share,
“ He then intends to poison himself, and is arrested, in the act of setting the cup to his lips, by the sound of the church-bells and the Easter Hymn. The
sentiments which this incident recalls are tenderly expressed, but not in that impassioned and pathetic strain which the occasion might have been expected to inspire."
FAUST. “ Why seek ye here, ye tones of Heaven, A thing like me, of mortal leaven?
On softer hearts your soothing influence try; · I hear your tidings, would that I believed !
I could be happy, though deceived.
From whence that heavenly sound salutes my ears;
Heaven in that peal seem'd pouring from above,
And I look'd upward for its kiss of love,
Impell’d me from the haunts of man ;
While tears of Christian fervour ran.
The solemntide for joys for ever past,
Arrestso my strides, and checks me at the last.
- A very silly namby-pamby scene succeeds between worthy artizans and others of their class,going, as the Cockneys call it, a holiday-making. Faust and Wagner, and then an old peasant, are introduced. The dialogue between them hath -oc
casional touches of poetry and of natural feeling, but still it is not of a very high order. The description of the season is not better than the spring has been described a thousand times; but the kindly gratitude of the peasant, for the assistance which Faust and his father had given to the people by their skill during a pestilence, is pleasing and natural; and there is prodigious effect in Faust's account of the result of his father's alchemy. I suspect Lord Francis did not clearly understand the passage in the original; for he has so translated it as to make it almost seem as if Faust and his father exasperated the plague by their medicines, whereas Faust is
alluding to the deleterious effects of the gold which . his father had alchemically made.”
the original. 40t clearly
I have a reason good to rest me there;
And mortified myself with fast and prayer.
With tears, and sighs, and prayers as vague,
And stay the ravage of the plague.
That father was a dark adept,
And, after many a crabb'd receipt,
“ An account of the feeling of his insatiable curiosity, which soon follows, is full of beautiful and lofty poetry. It is one of the gems of the boo! ."
FAUST. “ Happy in error's sea who finds the land,
Or o'er delusion's waves his limbs can buoy ;
And what we know, we know not to employ.
And yields to death but to recruit his fires ;
To track the monarch, as his orb retires,
I watch'd him, as he sought the west ;
Beneath his feet creation slept,
The waveless streams like golden serpents crept.
Yet the wish died not with returning night. Darkness behind me, and the day before,
On rush'd my soul to drink the eternal light. Seas roll'd beneath, and skies above me rose.
Blest dream! It vanish'd in its loveliest prime. Alas! no mortal wings may succour those
Which lift the mind upon its flight sublime. Y t nourish'd in the bosom's core
The impulse dwells which bids us onward press. When t'ie lark mounts till it can mount no more,
To wake its thrilling song of happiness, Whe'ı o'er the pines the eagle soaring
li poising wing appears to rest, Wien marshy wastes and seas exploring,
The crane speeds to his native nest.
“ I have had fancies, but for such as these
They never troubled me, as I remember; I soon have gazed my fill at fields and trees,
Envying no bird his wings, or any member. A different joy the learned finds at home, From page to page, from book to book to roam. Life from such task runs warm through every limb, And winter's blasts are gales of spring to him. And when some parchment is unroll’d by you, Heaven, like the prophet's scroll, seems open’d too.