Him whom we loved the best;

  Cleanly to bind him
  Took we the fondest care,
  Ah! and we find him
  Now no more there.

_Chorus of Angels_. Christ hath ascended!
  Reign in benignity!
  Pain and indignity,
  Scorn and malignity,
  _Their_ work have ended.

_Faust_. Why seek ye me in dust, forlorn,
Ye heavenly tones, with soft enchanting?
Go, greet pure-hearted men this holy morn!
Your message well I hear, but faith to me is wanting;
Wonder, its dearest child, of Faith is born.
To yonder spheres I dare no more aspire,
Whence the sweet tidings downward float;
And yet, from childhood heard, the old, familiar note
Calls back e'en now to life my warm desire.
Ah! once how sweetly fell on me the kiss
Of heavenly love in the still Sabbath stealing!
Prophetically rang the bells with solemn pealing;
A prayer was then the ecstasy of bliss;
A blessed and mysterious yearning
Drew me to roam through meadows, woods, and skies;
And, midst a thousand tear-drops burning,
I felt a world within me rise
That strain, oh, how it speaks youth's gleesome plays and feelings,
Joys of spring-festivals long past;
Remembrance holds me now, with childhood's fond appealings,
Back from the fatal step, the last.
Sound on, ye heavenly strains, that bliss restore me!
Tears gush, once more the spell of earth is o'er me

_Chorus of Disciples_. Has the grave's lowly one
  Risen victorious?
  Sits he, God's Holy One,
  High-throned and glorious?
  He, in this blest new birth,
  Rapture creative knows;[9]
  Ah! on the breast of earth
  Taste we still nature's woes.
  Left here to languish
  Lone in a world like this,
  Fills us with anguish
  Master, thy bliss!

_Chorus of Angels_. Christ has arisen
  Out of corruption's gloom.
  Break from your prison,
  Burst every tomb!
  Livingly owning him,
  Lovingly throning him,
  Feasting fraternally,
  Praying diurnally,
  Bearing his messages,
  Sharing his promises,
  Find ye your master near,
  Find ye him here![10]




     BEFORE THE GATE.

     _Pedestrians of all descriptions stroll forth_.

_Mechanics' Apprentices_. Where are you going to carouse?

_Others_. We're all going out to the Hunter's House.

_The First_. We're going, ourselves, out to the Mill-House, brothers.

_An Apprentice_. The Fountain-House I rather recommend.

_Second_. 'Tis not a pleasant road, my friend.

_The second group_. What will you do, then?

_A Third_. I go with the others.

_Fourth_. Come up to Burgdorf, there you're sure to find good cheer,
The handsomest of girls and best of beer,
And rows, too, of the very first water.

_Fifth_. You monstrous madcap, does your skin
Itch for the third time to try that inn?
I've had enough for _my_ taste in that quarter.

_Servant-girl_. No! I'm going back again to town for one.

_Others_. Under those poplars we are sure to meet him.

_First Girl_. But that for me is no great fun;
For you are always sure to get him,
He never dances with any but you.
Great good to me your luck will do!

_Others_. He's not alone, I heard him say,
The curly-head would be with him to-day.

_Scholar_. Stars! how the buxom wenches stride there!
Quick, brother! we must fasten alongside there.
Strong beer, good smart tobacco, and the waist
Of a right handsome gall, well rigg'd, now that's my taste.

_Citizen's Daughter_. Do see those fine, young fellows yonder!
'Tis, I declare, a great disgrace;
When they might have the very best, I wonder,
After these galls they needs must race!

_Second scholar_ [_to the first_].
Stop! not so fast! there come two more behind,
My eyes! but ain't they dressed up neatly?
One is my neighbor, or I'm blind;
I love the girl, she looks so sweetly.
Alone all quietly they go,
You'll find they'll take us, by and bye, in tow.

_First_. No, brother! I don't like these starched up ways.
Make haste! before the game slips through our fingers.
The hand that swings the broom o' Saturdays
On Sundays round thy neck most sweetly lingers.

_Citizen_. No, I don't like at all this new-made burgomaster!
His insolence grows daily ever faster.
No good from him the town will get!
Will things grow better with him? Never!
We're under more constraint than ever,
And pay more tax than ever yet.

_Beggar_. [_Sings_.] Good gentlemen, and you, fair ladies,
    With such red cheeks and handsome dress,
    Think what my melancholy trade is,
    And see and pity my distress!
    Help the poor harper, sisters, brothers!
    Who loves to give, alone is gay.
    This day, a holiday to others,
    Make it for me a harvest day.

_Another citizen_.
Sundays and holidays, I like, of all things, a good prattle
Of war and fighting, and the whole array,
When back in Turkey, far away,
The peoples give each other battle.
One stands before the window, drinks his glass,
And sees the ships with flags glide slowly down the river;
Comes home at night, when out of sight they pass,
And sings with joy, "Oh, peace forever!"

_Third citizen_. So I say, neighbor! let them have their way,
Crack skulls and in their crazy riot
Turn all things upside down they may,
But leave us here in peace and quiet.

_Old Woman_ [_to the citizen's daughter_].
Heyday, brave prinking this! the fine young blood!
Who is not smitten that has met you?--
But not so proud! All very good!
And what you want I'll promise soon to get you.

_Citizen's Daughter_. Come, Agatha! I dread in public sight
To prattle with such hags; don't stay, O, Luddy!
'Tis true she showed me, on St. Andrew's night,
My future sweetheart in the body.

_The other_. She showed me mine, too, in a glass,
Right soldierlike, with daring comrades round him.
I look all round, I study all that pass,
But to this hour I have not found him.

_Soldiers_.  Castles with lowering
           Bulwarks and towers,
           Maidens with towering
           Passions and powers,
           Both shall be ours!
           Daring the venture,
           Glorious the pay!

           When the brass trumpet
           Summons us loudly,
           Joy-ward or death-ward,
           On we march proudly.
           That is a storming!

           Life in its splendor!
           Castles and maidens
           Both must surrender.
           Daring the venture,
           Glorious the pay.
           There go the soldiers
           Marching away!


    FAUST _and_ WAGNER.

_Faust_. Spring's warm look has unfettered the fountains,
Brooks go tinkling with silvery feet;
Hope's bright blossoms the valley greet;
Weakly and sickly up the rough mountains
Pale old Winter has made his retreat.
Thence he launches, in sheer despite,
Sleet and hail in impotent showers,
O'er the green lawn as he takes his flight;
But the sun will suffer no white,
Everywhere waking the formative powers,
Living colors he yearns to spread;
Yet, as he finds it too early for flowers,
Gayly dressed people he takes instead.
Look from this height whereon we find us
Back to the town we have left behind us,
Where from the dark and narrow door
Forth a motley multitude pour.
They sun themselves gladly and all are gay,
They celebrate Christ's resurrection to-day.
For have not they themselves arisen?
From smoky huts and hovels and stables,
From labor's bonds and traffic's prison,
From the confinement of roofs and gables,
From many a cramping street and alley,
From churches full of the old world's night,
All have come out to the day's broad light.
See, only see! how the masses sally
Streaming and swarming through gardens and fields
How the broad stream that bathes the valley
Is everywhere cut with pleasure boats' keels,
And that last skiff, so heavily laden,
Almost to sinking, puts off in the stream;
Ribbons and jewels of youngster and maiden
From the far paths of the mountain gleam.
How it hums o'er the fields and clangs from the steeple!
This is the real heaven of the people,
Both great and little are merry and gay,
I am a man, too, I can be, to-day.

_Wagner_. With you, Sir Doctor, to go out walking
Is at all times honor and gain enough;
But to trust myself here alone would be shocking,
For I am a foe to all that is rough.
Fiddling and bowling and screams and laughter
To me are the hatefullest noises on earth;
They yell as if Satan himself were after,
And call it music and call it mirth.

    [_Peasants (under the linden). Dance and song._]

The shepherd prinked him for the dance,
With jacket gay and spangle's glance,
And all his finest quiddle.
And round the linden lass and lad
They wheeled and whirled and danced like mad.
Huzza! huzza!
Huzza! Ha, ha, ha!
And tweedle-dee went the fiddle.

And in he bounded through the whirl,
And with his elbow punched a girl,
Heigh diddle, diddle!
The buxom wench she turned round quick,
"Now that I call a scurvy trick!"
Huzza! huzza!
Huzza! ha, ha, ha!
Tweedle-dee, tweedle-dee went the fiddle.

And petticoats and coat-tails flew
As up and down they went, and through,
Across and down the middle.
They all grew red, they all grew warm,
And rested, panting, arm in arm,
Huzza! huzza!
Ta-ra-la!
Tweedle-dee went the fiddle!

"And don't be so familiar there!
How many a one, with speeches fair,
His trusting maid will diddle!"
But still he flattered her aside--
And from the linden sounded wide:
Huzza! huzza!
Huzza! huzza! ha! ha! ha!
And tweedle-dee the fiddle.

_Old Peasant._ Sir Doctor, this is kind of you,
That with us here you deign to talk,
And through the crowd of folk to-day
A man so highly larned, walk.
So take the fairest pitcher here,
Which we with freshest drink have filled,
I pledge it to you, praying aloud
That, while your thirst thereby is stilled,
So many days as the drops it contains
May fill out the life that to you remains.

_Faust._ I take the quickening draught and call
For heaven's best blessing on one and all.

            [_The people form a circle round him._]

_Old Peasant._ Your presence with us, this glad day,
We take it very kind, indeed!
In truth we've found you long ere this
In evil days a friend in need!
Full many a one stands living here,
Whom, at death's door already laid,
Your father snatched from fever's rage,
When, by his skill, the plague he stayed.
You, a young man, we daily saw
Go with him to the pest-house then,
And many a corpse was carried forth,
But you came out alive again.
With a charmed life you passed before us,
Helped by the Helper watching o'er us.

_All._ The well-tried man, and may he live,
Long years a helping hand to give!

_Faust._ Bow down to Him on high who sends
His heavenly help and helping friends!
                                [_He goes on with_ WAGNER.]

_Wagner._ What feelings, O great man, thy heart must swell
Thus to receive a people's veneration!
O worthy all congratulation,
Whose gifts to such advantage tell.
The father to his son shows thee with exultation,
All run and crowd and ask, the circle closer draws,
The fiddle stops, the dancers pause,
Thou goest--the lines fall back for thee.
They fling their gay-decked caps on high;
A little more and they would bow the knee
As if the blessed Host came by.

_Faust._ A few steps further on, until we reach that stone;
There will we rest us from our wandering.
How oft in prayer and penance there alone,
Fasting, I sate, on holy mysteries pondering.
There, rich in hope, in faith still firm,
I've wept, sighed, wrung my hands and striven
This plague's removal to extort (poor worm!)
From the almighty Lord of Heaven.
The crowd's applause has now a scornful tone;
O couldst thou hear my conscience tell its story,
How little either sire or son
Has done to merit such a glory!