From the high welkin to earth's centre bounding, Harmonious all through the great All resounding! What wondrous show! but ah! 'tis but a show! Where grasp I thee, thou infinite Nature, where? And you, ye teeming breasts? ye founts whence flow All living influences fresh and fair? Whereon the heavens and earth dependent hang, Where seeks relief the withered bosom's pang? Your founts still well, and I must pine in vain! [_He turns the book over impatiently, and beholds the sign of the Spirit of the Earth._] What different working hath this sign? Thou Spirit of the Earth, I feel thee nearer; Already sees my strengthened spirit clearer; I glow as I had drunk new wine. New strength I feel to plunge into the strife, And bear the woes and share the joys of life, Buffet the blasts, and where the wild waves dash, Look calmly on the shipwreck's fearful crash! Clouds hover o'er me-- The moon is dim! The lamp's flame wanes! It smokes!--Red beams dart forth Around my head--and from the vaulted roof Falls a cold shudder down, And grips me!--I feel Thou hover'st near me, conjured Spirit, now; Reveal thee! Ha! how swells with wild delight My bursting heart! And feelings, strange and new, At once through all my ravished senses dart! I feel my inmost soul made thrall to thee! Thou must! thou must! and were my life the fee! [_He seizes the book, and pronounces with a mysterious air the sign of the Spirit. A red flame darts forth, and the Spirit appears in the flame._ Spirit. Who calls me? Faust. [_turning away_] Vision of affright! Spirit. Thou hast with mighty spell invoked me, And to obey thy call provoked me, And now-- Faust. Hence from my sight! Spirit. Thy panting prayer besought my might to view, To hear my voice, and know my semblance too; Now bending from my native sphere to please thee, Here am I!--ha! what pitiful terrors seize thee, And overman thee quite! where now the call Of that proud soul, that scorned to own the thrall Of earth, a world within itself created, And bore and cherished? that with its fellows sated Swelled with prophetic joy to leave its sphere, And live a spirit with spirits, their rightful peer. Where art thou, Faust? whose invocation rung Upon mine ear, whose powers all round me clung? Art thou that Faust? whom melts my breath away, Trembling even to the life-depths of thy frame, Like a poor worm that crawls into his clay! Faust. Shall I then yield to thee, thou thing of flame? I am that Faust, and Spirit is my name!