Faust [part 1]. Translated Into English in the Original Metres · Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
WAGNER
Invoke not thus the well-known throng, Which through the firmament diffused is faring, And danger thousand-fold, our race to wrong. In every quarter is preparing. Swift from the North the spirit-fangs so sharp Sweep down, and with their barbéd points assail you; Then from the East they come, to dry and warp Your lungs, till breath and being fail you: If from the Desert sendeth them the South, With fire on fire your throbbing forehead crowning, The West leads on a host, to cure the drouth Only when meadow, field, and you are drowning. They gladly hearken, prompt for injury,— Gladly obey, because they gladly cheat us; From Heaven they represent themselves to be, And lisp like angels, when with lies they meet us. But, let us go! ’Tis gray and dusky all: The air is cold, the vapors fall. At night, one learns his house to prize:— Why stand you thus, with such astonished eyes? What, in the twilight, can your mind so trouble? Seest thou the black dog coursing there, through corn and stubble? Long since: yet deemed him not important in the least. Inspect him close: for what tak’st thou the beast? Why, for a poodle who has lost his master, And scents about, his track to find. Seest thou the spiral circles, narrowing faster, Which he, approaching, round us seems to wind? A streaming trail of fire, if I see rightly, Follows his path of mystery.
It may be that your eyes deceive you slightly; Naught but a plain black poodle do I see. It seems to me that with enchanted cunning He snares our feet, some future chain to bind. I see him timidly, in doubt, around us running, Since, in his master’s stead, two strangers doth he find. The circle narrows: he is near! A dog thou seest, and not a phantom, here! Behold him stop—upon his belly crawl—His tail set wagging: canine habits, all! Come, follow us! Come here, at least! ’Tis the absurdest, drollest beast. Stand still, and you will see him wait; Address him, and he gambols straight; If something’s lost, he’ll quickly bring it,— Your cane, if in the stream you fling it. No doubt you’re right: no trace of mind, I own, Is in the beast: I see but drill, alone. The dog, when he’s well educated, Is by the wisest tolerated. Yes, he deserves your favor thoroughly,— The clever scholar of the students, he! (_They pass in the city-gate_.)
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.