And lisp like angels when they most belie us.
But let us hence! the air is chill,
The cold gray mists are creeping down the hill,
Now is the time to seek the bright fireside.
Why standest thou with strange eyes opened wide?
What twilight-spectre may thy fancy trouble?
Faust.
See’st thou that swarthy dog sweeping through corn and stubble?
Wagner.
I saw him long ago—not strange he seemed to me.
Faust.
Look at him well—what should the creature be?
Wagner.
He seems a poodle who employs his snout
Now here, now there, to snuff his master out.
Faust.
Dost thou not see how nigher still and nigher
His spiral circles round us wind?
And, err I not, he leaves behind
His track a train of sparkling fire.
Wagner.
A small black poodle is all I see;
Surely some strange delusion blinds thee!
Faust.
Methinks soft magic circles winds he,
About, about, a snare for thee and me.
Wagner.
I see him only doubtful springing round,
Having two strangers for his master found.
Faust.
He draws him closer—now he comes quite near!
Wagner.
A dog, be sure, and not a ghost, is here.
He growls, and looks about in fear,
And crouches down, and looks to you,
And wags his tail—what any dog will do.
Faust.
Come hither, poodle!
Wagner.
’Tis a drollish brute;
