վҳʱ ƾ̨ ۵ Ļ Ƶ֪ʶȨ


2020-08-13 19:27:35  Դձ


Źַ:a g 9 559 v i p

Forbear! When passion sways me, and I seek to frame Fir utterance forfeeling, deep, intense, And for my frenzy finding no fit name, Sweep round theample world with every sense, Grasp at the loftiest words to speak my flame,And call the glow, wherewith I burn, Quenchless, eternal, yea, eterne Is thatof sophistry a devilish play?


Martha (as above)

What in the spirit's depths was there created, What shyly there the lip shapedforth in sound; A failure now, with words now fitly mated, In the wild tumultof the hour is drown'd; Full oft the poet's thought for years hath waited Untilat length with perfect form 'tis crowned; What dazzles, for the moment born,must perish; What genuine is posterity will cherish.Merryman


Ź ɻ

Plan all things to achieve my end! Engage the attention of her friend! No milk- and - water devil be, And bring fresh jewels instantly!Mephistopheles


ŹйҶ ۻ

And dare a voice of merely human birth, E'en here, where shapes immortalthrong'd intrude? Yet ah! thou poorest of the sons of earth, For once, I e'ento thee feel gratitude. Despair the power of sense did well - nigh blast, Andthou didst save me ere I sank dismay'd, So giant - like the vision seem'd, sovast, I felt myself shrink dwarf'd as I survey'd!I, God's own image, from this toil of clay Already freed, with eager joy whohail'd The mirror of eternal truth unveil'd, Mid light effulgent and celestial day:I, more than cherub, whose unfetter'd soul With penetrative glance aspir'd toflow Through nature's veins, and, still creating, know The life of gods, - howam I punish'd now! One thunder - word hath hurl'd me from the goal!Spirit! I dare not lift me to thy sphere. What though my power compell'd theeto appear, My art was powerless to detain thee here. In that great moment,rapture - fraught, I felt myself so small, so great; Fiercely didst thrust me fromthe realm of thought Back on humanity's uncertain fate! Who'll teach me now?What ought I to forego? Ought I that impulse to obey? Alas! our every deed,as well as every woe, Impedes the tenor of life's onward way!E'en to the noblest by the soul conceiv'd, Some feelings cling of baser quality;And when the goods of this world are achiev'd, Each nobler aim is termed acheat, a lie. Our aspirations, our soul's genuine life, Grow torpid in the din ofearthly strife. Though youthful phantasy, while hope inspires, Stretch o'er theinfinite her wing sublime, A narrow compass limits her desires, When wreck'dour fortunes in the gulf of time. In the deep heart of man care builds her nest,O'er secret woes she broodeth there, Sleepless she rocks herself and scarethjoy and rest; Still is she wont some new disguise to wear, She may as houseand court, as wife and child appear, As dagger, poison, fire and flood;Imagined evils chill thy blood,

Oh, that naught perfect is assign'd to man, I feel, alas! With this exalted joy,Which lifts me near and nearer to the gods, Thou gav'st me this companion,unto whom I needs must cling, though cold and insolent, He still degrades meto myself, and turns Thy glorious gifts to nothing, with a breath. He in mybosom with malicious zeal For that fair image fans a raging fire; From cravingto enjoyment thus I reel And in enjoyment languish for desire.(Mephistopheles enters.)

Why thou shouldst ask, I cannot see. Since thee I now have learned to know,At thy good pleasure, visit me. Here is the window, here the door, Thechimney, too, may serve thy need.


Alone old Baubo's coming now; She rides upon a farrow sow.Chorus





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