_Helena_: Also in me, alas! an old word proves its truth, That Bliss and Beauty ne’er enduringly unite. Torn is the link of Life, no less than that of Love; So, both lamenting, painfully I say: Farewell! And cast myself again,—once only,—in thine arms.[219] After this crisis the old Faust sought to console himself in the bosom of nature, just as after the terrible catastrophe with Marguerite the contemplation of nature had given him the strength to live. On this occasion he reached the summit of a high mountain from which he watched the changing vapours of a cloud which seemed to him to assume the form of female beauty. But Faust was old, and now saw only memories of love. He cried out:— Yes! mine eyes not err!— On sun-illumined pillows beauteously reclined, Colossal, truly, but a godlike woman-form, I see! The like of Juno, Leda, Helena, Majestically lovely, floats before my sight! Ah! now ’tis broken! Towering broad and formlessly, It rests along the east like distant icy hills, And shapes the grand significance of fleeting days. Yet still there clings a light and delicate band of mist Around my breast and brow, caressing, cheering me. Now light, delaying, it soars and higher soars, And folds together.—Cheats me an ecstatic form, As early-youthful, long-foregone and highest bliss? The first glad treasures of my deepest heart break forth; Aurora’s love, so light of pinion, is its type, The swiftly-felt, the first, scarce-comprehended glance, Outshining every treasure, when retained and held. Like Spiritual Beauty mounts the gracious Form, Dissolving not, but lifts itself through ether far, And from my inner being bears the best away.[220] This state of mind resembles Goethe’s condition after the rupture with Ulrique. Love and poetry alike were over for him. None the less his craving for the higher life was not yet weakened. The desire to live was still very strong in the old Faust. But now he no longer as in the days of his youth dreamed of an ideal which could not be attained. When Mephistopheles asked him ironically:— Then might one guess whereunto thou hast striven? Boldly-sublime it was, I’m sure. Since nearer to the moon thy flight was driven, Would now thy mania that realm secure? _Faust_: Not so! This sphere of earthly soil Still gives us room for lofty doing. Astounding plans e’en now are brewing: I feel new strength for bolder toil.[221] Such optimistic language, extraordinarily different from Faust’s lamentations in the first Part, becomes still more marked. When he was approaching his centenary he made the following profession of faith:—