From Faust Second Part.

I.     ARIEL.     When in spring the gentle rain     Breathes into the flower new birth,     When the green and happy plain     Smiles upon the sons of earth,     Haste to give what help we may,     Little elves of wondrous might!     Whether good or evil they,     Pity for them feels the sprite.     II.     CHORUS OF SPIRITS.     WHEN the moist and balmy gale     Round the verdant meadow sighs,     Odors sweet in misty veil     At the twilight-hour arise.     Murmurings soft of calm repose     Rock the heart to child-like rest,     And the day's bright portals close     On the eyes with toil oppress'd.     Night already reigns o'er all,     Strangely star is link'd to star;     Planets mighty, sparkling small,     Glitter near and gleam afar.     Gleam above in clearer night,     Glitter in the glassy sea;     Pledging pure and calm delight,     Rules the moon in majesty.     Now each well-known hour is over,     Joy and grief have pass'd away;     Feel betimes! thoult then recover:     Trust the newborn eye of day.     Vales grow verdant, hillocks teem,     Shady nooks the bushes yield,     And with waving, silvery gleam,     Rocks the harvest in the field.     Wouldst thou wish for wish obtain,     Look upon yon glittering ray!     Lightly on thee lies the chain,     Cast the shell of sleep away!     Tarry not, but be thou bold,     When the many loiter still;     All with ease may be controll'd     By the man of daring will.     III.     ARIEL.     HARK! the storm of hours draws near,     Loudly to the spirit-ear     Signs of coming day appear.     Rocky gates are wildly crashing,     Phoebus' wheels are onward dashing;     (A wonderful noise proclaims the approach of the sun.)     Light doth mighty sounds beget!     Pealing loud as rolling thunder,     Eye and ear it fills with wonder,     Though itself unconscious yet.     Downward steals it,'mongst the flowers     Seeking deeper, stiller bowers,     'Mongst the foliage, 'neath the rock;     Thou'lt be deafened by the shock!      -     FROM FAUST SECOND PART.     SCENE THE LAST.     ANGELS.     [Hovering in the higher regions of air, and hearing the immortal     part of Faust.]     THE spirit-region's noble limb     Hath 'scaled the Archfiend's power;     For we have strength to rescue him     Who labours ev'ry hour.     And if he feels within his breast     A ray of love from heaven.     He's met by all the squadron blest     With welcome gladly given.     THE YOUNGER ANGELS.     Yonder roses, from the holy     Hands of penitents so lowly,     Help'd to render us victorious,     And to do the deed all-glorious;     For they gain'd us this soul-treasure.     Evil ones those roses banish'd,     Devils, when we met them, vanish'd.     Spirits felt love's pangs with pleasure,     Where hell's torments used to dwell;     E'en the hoary king of hell     Felt sharp torments through him run.     Shout for joy! the prize is won.     THE MORE PERFECT ANGELS.     Strains of mortality     Long have oppress'd us;     Pure could they ever be,     If of asbestos.     If mighty spirit-strength     Elements ever     Knew how to seize at length,     Angels could never     Link'd twofold natures move,     Where single-hearted;     By nought but deathless love     Can they be parted.     THE YOUNGER ANGELS.     See where a spirit-race     Bursts on the sight!     Dimly their forms I trace     Round the far height.     Each cloud becometh clear,     While the bright troops appear     Of the blest boys,     From the Earth's burden free,     In a glad company     Drinking in joys,     Born of the world above,     Springtime and bliss.     May they forerunners prove     Of a more perfect love,     Link'd on to this!     THE BEATIFIED CHILDREN.     Thus as a chrysalis     Gladly we gain him,     And as a pledge of bliss     Safely retain him;     When from the shell he's free     Whereby he's tainted,     Perfect and fair he'll be,     Holy and sainted.     DOCTOR MARINAS.     (In the highest, purest cell.)     Wide is the prospect here,     Raised is the soul;     Women on high appear,     Seeking their goal.     'Mongat them the radiant one,     Queen of the skies,     In her bright starry crown     Greets my glad eyes.                 (With ecstasy.)     Thou who art of earth the queen.     Let me, 'neath the blue     Heav'nly canopy serene     Thy sweet mystery view!     Grant the gentle solemn force     Which the breast can move.     And direct our onward course     Tow'rd thy perfect love.     Dauntless let our courage be,     At thy bright behest;     Mild our ardour suddenly,     When thou bidd'st us rest.     Virgin, type of holiness,     Mother, honour-crown'd,     Thou whom we as queen confess,     Godlike and renowned.     Round her, in gentle play,     Light clouds are stealing;     Penitents fair are they,     Who, humbly kneeling,     Sip in the ether sweet,     As they for grace entreat.     Thou, who art from passions free,     Kindly art inclin'd,     When the sons of frailty     Seek thee, meek in mind.     Borne by weakness' stream along,     Hard it is to save them;     Who can burst lust's chains so strong,     That, alas, enslave them?     O how soon the foot may slip,     When the smooth ground pressing!     O, how false are eye and lip,     False a breath caressing!                     MATER GLORLOSA hovers past.     CHORUS OF PENITENT WOMEN.     To bring realms on high     In majesty soaring,     O, hark to our cry     Thy pity imploring,     Thou help to the cheerless,     In glory so peerless!     MAGNA PECCATRIX (St. Luke vii. 36).     By the love, which o'er the feet     Of thy God-transfigur'd Son     Dropp'd the team, like balsam sweet,     Spite of ev'ry scornful one;     By the box of ointment rare,     Whence the drops so fragrant fell;     By the locks, whose gentle care     Dried His holy members well     muller SAMARITANA (St, John iv.).     By the well where Abram erst     Drove his flocks to drink their fill;     By the bucket which the thirst     Of the Saviour served to still;     By the fountain, balm-exhaling,     That from yon bright region flows,     Ever clear and never failing.     As round ev'ry world it goes     MARIA AEGYPTIACA (Acta Sanctorum).     By the sacred spot immortal,     Where the Lord's remains they plac'd;     By the arm, that from the portal     Drove me back with warning haste;     By my forty years of lowly     Penance in a desert land;     By the farewell greetings holy     That I wrote upon the sand     THE THREE.     Thou who ne'er thy radiant face     From the greatest sinners hides,     Thou who Thine atoning grace     Through eternity provident,     Let this soul, by virtue stirr'd,     Self-forgetful though when living,     That perceived not that it err'd,     Feel thy mercy, sin forgiving!     UNA POENITENTIUM.     (Once named Margaret, pressing near them.)     Oh radiance-spreading One,     Who equall'd art by none,     In mercy view mine ecstasy!     For he whom erst I loved,     No more by sorrow proved,     Returns at length to me!     BEATIFIED CHILDREN.     (Approaching as they hover round.)     He now in strength of limb     Far doth outweigh us,     And, as we tended him,     So will repay us.     Early removed were we     Far from life's story;     Train'd now himself, will he     Train us in glory.     THE PENITENT, once named Margaret.     Link'd with the noble band of spirits,     Scarce can the new one feel or see     The radiant life he now inherits,     So like that holy band is he.     See how he bursts each bond material,     And parts the olden veil at length,     In vesture clad of grace ethereal,     Comes in the glow of youthful strength.     Oh, let me guide his steps victorious,     While dazzled by the new-born light.     MATER GLORIOSA.     Come! raise thyself to spheres more glorious,     He'll follow when thou matzoth his sight.     DOCTOR MARINAS.     (Prostrated in adoration.)     O repentant sinful ones,     On that bright face gaze ye,     And, in grateful orisons,     Your blest fortune praise ye!     Be each virtue of the mind     To thy service given!     Virgin, mother, be thou kind!     Goddess, queen of heaven!     CHORUS MYSTICS.     Each thing of mortal birth     Is but a type     What was of feeble worth     Here becomes ripe.     What was a mystery     Here meets the eye;     The ever-womanly     Draws us on high.                         (Finis.)