Faust and Mephistopheles.
Mephistopheles.
Would you not like a broomstick to bestride?
Would God I had a stout old goat to ride!
The way is long; and I would rather spare me
This uphill work.
Faust.
While my good legs can bear me,
This knotted stick will serve my end.
What boots it to cut short the way?
Through the long labyrinth of vales to wend,
These rugged mountain-steeps to climb,
And hear the gushing waters’ ceaseless chime,
No better seasoning on my wish to-day
Could wait, to make the Brocken banquet prime!
The Spring is waving in the birchen bower,
And ev’n the pine begins to feel its power;
Shall we alone be strangers to its sway?
Mephistopheles.
No whiff I feel that hath a smell of May;
I am most wintry cold in every limb;
I’d sooner track my road o’er frost and snow.
How sadly mounts the imperfect moon!—so dim
Shines forth its red disk, with belated glow,
We run the risk, at every step, on stones
Or stumps of crazy trees, to break our bones.
You must allow me to request the aid
Of a Will-o-the-Wisp;—I see one right ahead,
And in the bog it blazes merrily.
Holla! my good friend! dare I be so free?
Two travellers here stand much in need of thee;
Why should’st thou waste thy flickering flame in vain?
Pray be so good as light us up the hill!
Will-o-the-Wisp.
Out of respect to you, I will restrain,
If possible, my ever-shifting will;
But all our natural genius, and our skill
Is zigzag; straight lines go against the grain.
Mephistopheles.
Ha! ha! hast learned from men how to declaim?
March on, I tell thee, in the Devil’s name!
Else will I blow thy flickering life-spark out.
Will-o-the-Wisp.
You are the master of the house, no doubt,
And therefore I obey you cheerfully.
Only remember! ’tis the first of May,
The Brocken is as mad as mad can be;
And when an ignis fatuus leads the way,
You have yourselves to blame, if you should stray.
Faust, Mephistopheles, and Will-o-the-Wisp. [in reciprocal song]
