Behind this dungeon's dripping wall she lies,
Frenzy the crime for which her blood must flow.
Traitor, thou darest not enter in

To face the witness of thy sin.

Forward, thy cowardice draws down the blow.

MARGARET (within) sings.
Now shame on my mother
Who brought me to light,
And foul fall my father
Who nursed me in spite.

FAUST (unlocking the door).

She dreams not that her lover hears the strain,
The straw's sad rustling, and the clinking chain.

MARGARET (hiding herself in the straw on which she lies). Wo, wo! they wake me! bitter fate!

FAUST.

Hush, hush! I come to give thee means to fly.

MARGARET.

Art thou a man? then be compassionate.

FAUST.

Soft! thou wilt wake thy jailers with that cry.

[He seizes the chains to unlock them.

MARGARET (on her knees).

Who gave the hangman power

So soon to wake and slay?

Why callest thou me at midnight's hour?

Oh! let me live till day!

Is it not time when morn has sprung?

[She stands up.

And I am yet so young-so young!
And yet so soon to perish by your laws.
Once I was fair too-that is just the cause.
One friend was near me then; he too is fled.
My flowers are wither'd, and my garland dead.
Seize me not thus! it gives me pain.

Have I e'er wrong'd thee? why then bind me so ?
Let not my woman's voice implore in vain—
Can I have hurt one whom I do not know?

FAUST.

Can I outlive this hour of wo!

MARGARET.

Ah! I am now within thy power;
Yet let me clasp my only joy,

My child! I nursed it many an hour,

But then they took it from me to annoy,
And now they say the mother kill'd her boy.
And she shall ne'er be happy more.'-

That is the song they sing to give me pain;
It is the end of an old strain,

But never meant me before.

FAUST.

He whom you deem'd so far, before you lies,
To burst your chains, and give the life you prize.

MARGARET.

Oh! raise we to the saints our prayer!

For see, beneath the stair,

Beneath the door-stone swell

The penal flames of hell.

The evil one,

In pitiless wrath,

Roars for his prey.

i

Margaret! Margaret!

FAUST (aloud).

MARGARET (starting).

That was his voice!

[She springs up; her chains fall off.]

Where is he? for I know 'twas he.

None, none shall stay me; I am free! "Tis to his bosom I will fly,

In his embraces I will lie.

His Margaret he calls, on the threshold he stands,
'Mid the laughter and howls of the fiendish bands;
Through the shouts of their malice, their hissings of scorn,
How sweetly his voice of affection was borne!

FAUST.

'Tis I.

MARGARET.

Oh, say it, say it, once again,

My friend, my lover! Where is now my pain?
Where is my chain, my dungeon, and my grave?
He comes himself to comfort and to save.

I see the church's aisle, the street,
Where first we dared to gaze, to meet :
The garden blooms before me now,
Where first we shared the kiss, the vow.

FAUST.

Haste, Margaret, haste!
For if thou lingerest here,
We both shall pay it dear.

MARGARET.

What, thou canst kiss no more!
Away so short a time as this,

And hast so soon forgot to kiss!

Why are my joys less ardent than they were?
Once in those folding arms I loved to lie,

Clung to that breast, and deem'd my heaven was there,
Till, scarce alive, I almost long'd to die!
Those lips are cold, and do not move,

Alas! unkind, unkind!

Hast thou left all thy love,

Thy former love, behind?

FAUST.

Follow me! follow, Margaret! be not slow:
With twice its former heat my love shall glow.
Margaret, this instant come, 'tis all I pray.

MARGARET.

And art thou, art thou, he for certain, say?

I am; come with me.

FAUST.

MARGARET.

Thou shalt burst my chain,

And lay me in thy folding arms again.

How comes it, tell me, thou canst bear my sight?

Know'st thou to whom thou bring'st the means of flight?

FAUST.

Come, come !-I feel the morning breeze's breath.

MARGARET.

This hand was guilty of a mother's death!
I drown'd my child! And thou canst tell
If it was mine, 'twas thine as well.
I scarce believe, though so it seem-
Give me thy hand-I do not dream-
That dear, dear hand. Alas, that spot!
Wipe it away, the purple clot!

What hast thou done? Put up thy sword:
It was thy Margaret's voice implored.

FAUST.

Oh Margaret! let the past be past:
Forget it, or I breathe my last.

MARGARET.

No; you must live till I shall trace
For each their separate burial place.
You must prepare betimes to-morrow
Our home of sorrow.

For my poor mother keep the best:
My brother next to her shall rest.
Me, Margaret, you must lay aside,
Some space between, but not too wide.
On the right breast my boy shall be ;
Let no one else lie there but he.
'Twere bliss with him in death to lie,
Which, on this earth, my foes deny.
'Tis all in vain-you will not mind,
And yet you look so good, so kind.