Of stems what a
grinding
and moaning!
Faust, a Tragedy by Goethe
Here, spark-showers, darting up before us,
Like golden sand-clouds rise and fall.
But yonder see how blazes o'er us,
All up and down, the rocky wall!
_Mephistopheles_. Has not Sir Mammon gloriously lighted
His palace for this festive night?
Count thyself lucky for the sight:
I catch e'en now a glimpse of noisy guests invited.
_Faust_. How the mad tempest[34] sweeps the air!
On cheek and neck the wind-gusts how they flout me.
_Mephistopheles_. Must seize the rock's old ribs and hold on stoutly!
Else will they hurl thee down the dark abysses there.
A mist-rain thickens the gloom.
Hark, how the forests crash and boom!
Out fly the owls in dread and wonder;
Splitting their columns asunder,
Hear it, the evergreen palaces shaking!
Boughs are twisting and breaking!
Of stems what a grinding and moaning!
Of roots what a creaking and groaning!
In frightful confusion, headlong tumbling,
They fall, with a sound of thunder rumbling,
And, through the wreck-piled ravines and abysses,
The tempest howls and hisses.
Hearst thou voices high up o'er us?
Close around us--far before us?
Through the mountain, all along,
Swells a torrent of magic song.
_Witches_ [_in chorus_]. The witches go to the Brocken's top,
The stubble is yellow, and green the crop.
They gather there at the well-known call,
Sir Urian[85] sits at the head of all.
Then on we go o'er stone and stock:
The witch, she--and--the buck.
_Voice_. Old Baubo comes along, I vow!
She rides upon a farrow-sow.
_Chorus_. Then honor to whom honor's due!
Ma'am Baubo ahead!
