ANGELS.[Hovering in the higher regions of air, and hearing the immortalpart of Faust.]
Thus mayst thou feel, for thou to GOETHE only
And in his magic fetters gladly lies;E'en to the highest bath he winged his flight,
On the bed and weeps without control.
For unto herHath he grantedAll the fancies which erstTo none allow'd heSaving himself;Now he takes his pleasureIn the mad one.
When at length return'd the spring-time,To the nightingales thus spake I:"Darling nightingales, oh, beat yeEarly, early at my window,--Wake me from the heavy slumberThat chains down the youth so strongly!"Yet the love-o'erflowing songstersTheir sweet melodies protractedThrough the night before my window,Kept awake my loving spirit,Rousing new and tender yearningsIn my newly-waken'd bosom.And the night thus fleeted o'er me,And Aurora found me sleeping,--Ay, the sun could scarce arouse me.
To the arch-fiend be akin."
------What we sing in companySoon from heart to heart will fly.-----
Hateful tones assail the ear.Laughter wild (exchange how mournful!)
How the infant sleeps!Wilt thou rest thee in the cottage,Stranger? Wouldst thou ratherIn the open air still linger?Now 'tis cool! take thou the childWhile I go and draw some water.Sleep on, darling! sleep!
I feel so weak, so strong!