The magic choir from whizzing wings,
Long lines of sparkling glory flings.
Voice. [from below]
Stop, stop!
Voice. [from above]
Who bawls so loud from the cleft?
Voice. [from below]
Let me go with you! let me not be left!
Three hundred years I grope and grope
Round the base and up the slope,
But still the summit cheats my hope.
I fain would be a merry guest
At Satan’s banquet with the rest.
Both Choruses.
On broomstick, and on lusty goat,
On pitchfork, and on stick, we float;
And he, to-day who cannot soar,
Is a lost man for evermore.
Half-Witch. [below]
I hobble on behind them all,
The others scarcely hear my call!
I find no rest at home: and here,
I limp on lamely in the rear.
Chorus of Witches.
The ointment gives our sinews might,[n11]
For us each rag is sail enough,
We find a ship in every trough;
Whoso will fly must fly to-night.
Both Choruses.
While we upon the summit ride,
Be yours to sweep along the side;
Up and down, and far and wide,
On the left, and on the right,
Witch and wizard massed together,
Scour the moor and sweep the heather,
Bravely on Walpurgis-night!
[They alight.
Mephistopheles.
What a thronging, and jolting, and rolling, and rattling!
What a whizzing, and whirling, and jostling, and battling!
What a sparkling, and blazing, and stinking, and burning!
And witches that all topsy-turvy are turning!—
Hold fast by me, or I shall lose you quite,
Where are you?
Faust. [at a distance]
Here!
Mephistopheles.
What! so far in the rear!
Why then ’tis time that I should use my right,
As master of the house to-night.
