But, much as my heart to see thee yearneth, The secret horror of him returneth; And I think the man a knave, as I live! If I do him wrong, may God forgive! FAUST There must be such queer birds, however. MARGARET Live with the like of him may I never! When once inside the door comes he, He looks around so sneeringly, And half in wrath: One sees that in nothing no interest he hath: [Pg 6405]'Tis written on his very forehead That love, to him, is a thing abhorred. I am so happy on thine arm, So free, so yielding, and so warm, And in his presence stifled seems my heart. FAUST Foreboding angel that thou art! In the Dungeon In a niche of the wall a shrine, with an image of the Mater Dolorosa. Pots of flowers before it MARGARET [Putting fresh flowers in the pots] Incline, O Maiden, Thou sorrow-laden, Thy gracious countenance upon my pain! The sword thy heart in, With anguish smarting, Thou lookest up to where thy Son is slain! Thou seest the Father; The sad sighs gather, And bear aloft thy sorrow and his pain! Ah, past guessing, Beyond expressing, The pangs that wring my flesh and bone! Why this anxious heart so burneth, Why it trembleth, why it yearneth, Knowest thou, and thou alone! Where'er I go, what sorrow, What woe, what woe and sorrow Within my bosom aches! Alone, and ah! unsleeping, I'm weeping, weeping, weeping,— The heart within me breaks. The pots before my window, Alas! my tears did wet, As in the early morning For thee these flowers I set. [Pg 6406]Within my lonely chamber The morning sun shone red: I sat in utter sorrow, Already on my bed. Help! rescue me from death and stain! O Maiden! Thou sorrow-laden, Incline thy countenance upon my pain! IN THE DUNGEON FAUST With a bunch of keys and a lamp, before an iron door A shudder, long unfelt, comes o'er me; Mankind's collected woe o'erwhelms me here. She dwells within the dark, damp walls before me, And all her crime was a delusion dear! What! I delay to free her? I dread, once again to see her? On! my shrinking but lingers Death more near. [He grasps the lock: the sound of singing is heard inside.] My mother the harlot, Who put me to death; My father the varlet, Who eaten me hath! Little sister, so good, Laid my bones in the wood, In the damp moss and clay: Then was I a beautiful bird o' the wood: Fly away! Fly away! FAUST [unlocking] She does not dream her lover listens near; That he the rattling chain, the rustling straw, can hear. MARGARET [hiding herself on the pallet] Woe! woe! They come. O death of bitterness! FAUST [whispering] Hush! hush! The hour is come that frees thee. [Pg 6407] MARGARET [throwing herself before him] Art thou a man? then pity my distress! FAUST Thy cries will wake the guards, and they will seize thee! He takes hold of the fetters to unlock them. MARGARET [on her knees] Who, headsman! unto thee such power