©Biblioteca Nacional de Colombia

FOREST AND CAVERN 181
Wouldst grudge the short delight--
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Delight indeed!
Yes, transcendental rapture !-rrughty fine !­
In night and dew lying among the hills,
In ecstasy embracing earth and heaven-
To swell up till you are a kind of god-
To pierce into the marrow of the earth
In a fool's fancies-all the six.days' task
Of the creation in thy breast to feel-
And in the pride of conscious power enjoy
I know not what of bliss,-to cherish love
That has no limits, but must overflow
Till it loves everything that is-till earth
And man's poor nature, in the trance forgotten,
Bas passed away-and then the glorious hour
Of intuition ending-how it ends
I must not say--
FAUST.
Fie, fie upon thee.
MEPHISTOPHELES.
Yes!
'~ie, fie! '-it does not suit your taste, forsooth­
FIe, fie! this mannerly word sounds very well
In your mouth now. The modest ears are closed,
And will not hear of what the modest heart
Yet cannot go without. Good, good i-a word,
Rowever, upon what you said-I grudge not
To you or any man such pleasure, as
lie now and then may feel, in playing tricks
Of self.deception; pity 'twill not last.
You are already blown out of your course­
Are almost what you were when first we met;
And, if you don't take care, will fret yourself
Soon into actual madness-frenzy·fever,
Or melancholy horror. For your own sake
B~ve done with this: your love, poor creature! sits
WIthin there,-you should soothe her! All with her
Is Bad and gloomy-out of her poor mind
You never are: she loves devotedly,
P?or thing i-on thee she thinks-thinks evermore.
Fll'st came the flood of thy o'erflowing passion,
As swells, when the snows melt, a mountain brook
©Biblioteca Nacional de Colombia