Faust. Haste, Margaret, haste!

For, if thou lingerest here,

We both shall pay it dear.

Marg. What, thou canst kiss no more?

Away so short a time as this,

And hast so soon forgot to kiss!

Why are my joys less ardent than they were?

Once in those folding arms I loved to lie,

Clung to that breast, and deem'd my heaven was there,

Till, scarce alive, I almost longed to die!

Those lips are cold, and do not move,

Alas! unkind, unkind!

Hast thou left all thy love,

Thy former love, behind?

Faust. Follow me! follow, Margaret! be not slow: With twice its former heat my love shall glow.

Margaret, this instant come, 'tis all I pray.

Marg. And art thou, art thou, he, for certain, say? Faust. I am, come with me.

Marg. Thou shalt burst my chain,

And lay me in thy folding arms again.

How comes it, tell me, thou canst bear my sight?

Know'st thou to whom thou bring'st the means of flight?

Faust. Come, come!-I feel the morning breezes

breath.

Marg. This hand was guilty of a mother's death! I drown'd my child! and thou can't 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.

Faust. Oh, Margaret! let the hour be past;
Forget it, or I breathe my last.

Marg. No; you must live till I shall trace

For each their separate burial place.
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 thy right breast my boy shall be,
Let no one else be 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.

Faust. Then be persuaded-come with me.
Marg. To wander with you?

Faust. To be free.

Marg. To death! I know it-I prepare.

I come, the grave is yawning there!

The grave, no further-'tis our journey's end.
You part. Oh! could I but your steps attend.

Faust. You can! But wish it, and the deed is done.
Marg. I may not with you; hope for me is none !
How can I fly? they glare upon me still!
It is so sad to beg the wide world through,
And with an evil conscience too!

It is so sad to roam through stranger lands,
And they will seize me with their iron hands.
Faust. I will be with you.

Marg. Quick! fly!

Save it, or the child will die!

Through the wild wood,
To the pond!

It lifts its head!

Then bubbles rise!

It breathes!

Oh save it, save it!

Faust. Reflect, reflect,

One step and thou art free.

Marg. Had we but pass'd the hill-side lone-
My mother there sits on a stone.

Long she has sat there, cold and dead,
Yet nodding with her weary head.

Yet winks not, nor signs, other motion is o'er;
She slept for so long, that she wakes no more.
Faust. Since words are vain to rouse thy sleeping

sense,

I venture, and with force I bear thee hence.

Marg. Unhand me, leave me, I will not consent; Too much I yielded once, too much repent.

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

Marg. 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 too 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 headman's stroke---the weeping steel!
And all are as dumb with speechless pain,
As if they never would speak again!
Faust. Oh, had I never lived!

Mephistopheles (appears in the door way.)
Off! or your life will be but short;
My coursers paw the ground, and snort!
The sun will rise, and off they bound.

Marg. 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!

Faust. To bid thee live.

Marg. Justice of heaven, to thee my soul I give.

Meph. (To Faust.)

Come, come, or tarry else with her to die.

Marg. Heaven, I am thine! to thy embrace I fly.

Hover around, ye angel bands!

Save me, defy him where he stands.

Henry, I shudder! 'tis for thee.

Meph. She is condemn'd!

(Voices from above.) Is pardon'd! Meph. (to Faust.) Hence and flee! Marg. (from within.) Henry! Henry!

Goethe's Faust, by Lord Francis
Leveson Gower.

THE FLOWER OF GNIDE.

THE following Ode is translated from the original Spanish of Garcilaso de la Vega, by Mr. J. H. Wiffen. "It is not often," to use a cant phrase of the present day, we meet with such poetry as this. The sentiments do honor to the original writer; the language does equal honor to the translator, and shews what the English language is capable of in the hands of a master. If this Ode were read to a foreigner, totally ignorant of the English language, he would perceive a strength, harmony, and fire, of which he could not trace a vestige in the sing-song lullabies, of which the bulk of modern poetry is composed. The words are happily selected, and still more happily disposed of, the vowel and consonant sounds being so judiciously blended with each other, that the language is nervous without being harsh, and musical without being effeminate. In the first stanza, almost every word is an echo to the sense, an effect which will always take place unconsciously, whenever the poet is truly inspired by his subject, particularly when an analogy exists between his ideas and any modification of sounds whatever. This Ode reminds us of Gray: it possesses all his classic elegance and chastity of manner, and has not a feature, in common, with any of our modern schools.-ED.

Had I the sweet resounding lyre,

Whose voice could in a moment chain
The howling winds' ungovern'd ire,
And movement of the raging main,

On savage hill the leopard rein,
The lion's ficry soul entrance,
And lead along with golden tones,
The fascinated trees and stones,
In voluntary dance.