Again the friendly taper glows,
A light is in the breast as well
And in the heart itself that knows.
Reason resumes her lofty themes
Hope blooms anow with promise rife—
And oh—we languish for the streams—
We languish for the springs of life.
This gleam of milder thought is already passing off—but he down to a theological disquisition, in the course of which dog becomes outrageous, for, perverse and unprincipled his taste is, he has the merit of being consistent in the feeling and persevering in the expression of it, so much so that Faust, annoyed at last, attempts to turn him out of doors, and a contest takes place, in the course of which the real character of the stranger is discovered, and Mephistopheles stands forth to personate it. Their conversations are long—I shall not amplify upon them now—the result is that Faust sells, or rather, so recklessly does he bargain, gives away his soul, and the covenant is signed in blood. Yet he does get some promises of enjoyment as part of the conditions, and he scornfully tells the adversary, the poor devil as he calls him, that it will not be in his power to fulfil this promise, or to shed one ray of pleasure upon a soul like his. Mephistopheles in reply taunts him with his attempted suicide, and his relenting when he heard the Easter songs and bells, intimating that the pleasures and affections of humanity have still some hold upon his breast. But he denies the inference.
Recall'd my soul from fearful thought,
And soothing dreams like childhood's own,
An instant o'er my fancy brought.
Still will I curse the spells that bind
Our natures to this foul abyss,
The cheats that keep the chainless mind
A prisoner in a den like this.
Be curs'd henceforth the spirit's deeming
And lofty aim, itself to know—
Accurs'd the dazzling pomp of seeming,
The world's all captivating show.
Curs'd be our visions of enduring
In name and fame to times to come,
And curs'd our ties, yet more alluring.
Of wife, dependants, friends, and home.
Accurs'd be mammon, when with treasure
He waits high enterprise to crown,
And when for our inglorious pleasure,
He smooths luxurious pillows down.
