To rise 'tis trying,
It struggles still!
It struggles still!
Faust, a Tragedy by Goethe
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!
_Faust_. Bethink thyself, pray!
A single step and thou art free!
_Margaret_. Would we were by the mountain. See!
There sits my mother on a stone,
The sight on my brain is preying!
There sits my mother on a stone,
And her head is constantly swaying;
She beckons not, nods not, her head falls o'er,
So long she's been sleeping, she'll wake no more.
She slept that we might take pleasure.
O that was bliss without measure!
_Faust_. Since neither reason nor prayer thou hearest;
I must venture by force to take thee, dearest.
_Margaret_.
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!
_Faust_. Bethink thyself, pray!
A single step and thou art free!
_Margaret_. Would we were by the mountain. See!
There sits my mother on a stone,
The sight on my brain is preying!
There sits my mother on a stone,
And her head is constantly swaying;
She beckons not, nods not, her head falls o'er,
So long she's been sleeping, she'll wake no more.
She slept that we might take pleasure.
O that was bliss without measure!
_Faust_. Since neither reason nor prayer thou hearest;
I must venture by force to take thee, dearest.
_Margaret_.