So
wretched
the lot, an exile roaming--And
then on my heels they are ever coming!
Faust, a Tragedy by Goethe
_Faust_. Into the open air.
_Margaret_. If the grave is there,
If death is lurking; then come!
From here to the endless resting-place,
And not another pace--Thou
go'st e'en now? O, Henry, might I too.
_Faust_. Thou canst! 'Tis but to will! The door stands open.
_Margaret_. I dare not go; for me there's no more hoping.
What use to fly? They lie in wait for me.
So wretched the lot to go round begging,
With an evil conscience thy spirit plaguing!
So
wretched
the lot, an exile roaming--And
then on my heels they are ever coming!
_Faust_. I shall be with thee.
_Margaret_. Make haste! make haste!
No time to waste!
Save thy poor child!
Quick! follow the edge
Of the rushing rill,
Over the bridge
And by the mill,
Then into the woods beyond
On the left where lies the plank
Over the pond.
Seize hold of it quick!
To rise 'tis trying,
It struggles still!
Rescue! rescue!
