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Service and Anthem. " MARGARET and many

others. EviL SPIRIT behind MARGARET.


« EVIL SPIRIT. “ Margaret, how different thy lot

When kneeling at the altar's foot
In thy young innocence ;
When, from the mass-book, snatched in haste,
Thy prayer was utter'd ;
Prayer which but half displaced
The thought of childish pastime in thy mind.
How is it with thy brain ?
Is it not in thy heart
The blackening spot?
Are thy prayers utter'd for thy mother's soul,
Who slept, through thee, through thee, to wake no more?
Is not thy door-stone red?
Whose is the blood ?
Dost thou not feel it shoot
Under thy breast, e'en now,

thou darest not own,
That tells of shame to come ?

“ Woe, woe! could I dispel the thoughts
Which cross me and surround
Against my will

“ Dies iræ, dies illa,
Solvet sæculum in favillâ.

“ Despair is on thee-

The last trumpet sounds
The graves are yawning.
Thy sinful heart,
From its cold rest,
For wrath eternal,
And for penal flames,
Is raised again!

< Were I but hence!

I feel as if the organ's swell
Stifled my breath-
As if the anthem's note
Shot through my soul!

« Judex ergo cum sedebit,

Quidquid latet adparebit,
Nil inultum remanebit,

“I pant for room !

The pillars of the aisle
Are closing on me!
The vaulted roof
Weighs down my head!

“ Hide thyself!

Sin an hame
May not be hidden.
Light and air for thee?
Despair ! despair !

“ Quid sum miser túnc dicturus,
Quem patronum rogaturus?
Cum vix justus sit securus.

“ The glorified are turning

Their foreheads from thee;
The holy shun
To join their hands in thine.
Despair !

“ Quid sum miser tunc dicturus ?


Help me, I faint !"

P. 227.

We can afford space for this fine passage, since the noble poet, with that sound judgment wbich we have before com mended, bas omitted the succeeding extraordinary scene on The Hartz Mountain on Walpurgis night, which we do not hesitate to confess, is beyond vor comprehension, and which we cannot therefore be expected to admire even in part. By that perversion of talent, taste, and principle which transmuted into base metal all which the late Mr. Percy Byshe Shelley might once, perhaps, have attained power to exalt into gold, he selected this particular scene, the most excep

tionable both in conception and in expression, which Goethe ever composed, to present to the British public, as a specimen of the master's power; and he found a willing midwife for his abortion in the chief of the Cockney School. Lord Francis Leveson Gower has been warned by this signal failure, and he contents bimself by relating one incident too striking to be allowed to perish. The revelling witches have the power of assuming any form they please. One appears to Faust as his Margaret. The neck of the phantom has impressed round it a single streak of red, scarcely broader than the line which would be traced by a knife. It is a type of her fate.

Margaret is in prison ; in a fit of frenzy she bas committed infanticide. It is the night before her execution, and Me phistopheles having led bis victim through the round of Hellpastimes on the Hartz, informs him of the lot of his mistress, Faust is distracted, and demands power to save her. Mephistopheles lulls the jailors into sleep, obtains the keys of the dungeon, and places Faust within it. We wish we could extract the whole of the exquisite concluding scene.

(hiding herself in the straw on which she lies.)
Woe, woe! they wake me! bitter fate!

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

" Art thou a man? then be compassionate.

" 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,

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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 ?". P. 254. At last she recognizes her lover..

6. FAUST. u 'Tis I.


« 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.

6 FAUST, “ Away! away!


« Oh, not so fast ! Time is with you so sweetly past.

FAUST, “ Haste, Margaret, haste!

For if thou lingerest here,
We both shall

it dear.”

F. 257.


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

* 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.

« 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

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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.”.

P. 259. He in vain urges her to flee.

FAUST " Day! Margaret, day! your hour will soon be past.

" True, 'tis the day; the last the last !

My bridal day !-'twill soon appear.
Tell it to none thou hast been here.
We shall see one another, and soon shall see
But not at the dance will our meeting be.
We two shall meet
In the crowded street:
The citizens throng--the press is hot,
They talk together— I hear them not:
The bell has toll'd-the wand they break-
My arms they pinion till they ache!
They force me down upon the chair !
The neck of each spectator there
Thrills, as though itself would feel
The headsman's stroke--the sweeping steel !
And all are as dumb, with speechless pain,
As if they never would speak again!


Oh, had I never lived !

MEPHISTOPHELES (appears in the door-wny.) “ Of or your life will be but short:

My coursers paw the ground, and snort !
The sun will rise, and off they bound.

MARGARET. 6 Who is it rises from the ground?

'Tis he!--the evil one of hell ! What would he where the holy dwell? 'Tis me he seeks !

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