What may occur just bear in mind! A fortnight's space, at least, I need, A fit occasion but to find.
With but seven hours I could succeed; Nor should I want the devil's wile, So young a creature to beguile.
Like any Frenchman now you speak, But do not fret, I pray; why seek To hurry to enjoyment straight? The pleasure is not half so great, As when at first, around, above, With all the fooleries of love, The puppet you can knead and mold As in Italian story oft is told.
But now, without offence or jest! You cannot quickly, I protest, In winning this sweet child succeed. By storm we cannot take the fort, To stratagem we must resort.
Conduct me to her place of rest! Some token of the angel bring! A kerchief from her snowy breast, A garter bring me--any thing!
That I my anxious zeal may prove, Your pangs to soothe and aid your love, A single moment will we not delay, Will lead you to her room this very day.
MEPHISTOPHELES No! She to a neighbor's house will go; But in her atmosphere alone The tedious hours meanwhile you may employ In blissful dreams of future joy.
Some present for my love procure! [_Exit._]
Presents so soon! 'tis well! success is sure! Full many a goodly place I know, And treasures buried long ago; I must a bit o'erlook them now. [_Exit._]
MARGARET (_braiding and binding up her hair_)
I would give something now to know Who yonder gentleman could be! He had a gallant air, I trow, And doubtless was of high degree: That written on his brow was seen-- Nor else would he so bold have been.
Welcome sweet twilight, calm and blest, That in this hallow'd precinct reigns! Fond yearning love, inspire my breast, Feeding on hope's sweet dew thy blissful pains! What stillness here environs me! Content and order brood around. What fulness in this poverty! In this small cell what bliss profound!
[_He throws himself on the leather arm-chair beside the bed_.]
Receive me thou, who hast in thine embrace, Welcom'd in joy and grief the ages flown! How oft the children of a by-gone race Have cluster'd round this patriarchal throne! Haply she, also, whom I hold so dear, For Christmas gift, with grateful joy possess'd, Hath with the full round cheek of childhood, here, Her grandsire's wither'd hand devoutly press'd. Maiden! I feel thy spirit haunt the place, Breathing of order and abounding grace. As with a mother's voice it prompteth thee The pure white cover o'er the board to spread, To stew the crisping sand beneath thy tread. Dear hand! so godlike in its ministry! The hut becomes a paradise through thee! And here--