Prologue in Heaven - Goethe's Faust rendered into English Verse

In the Prologue in Heaven Mephistopheles (the "devil") and The Lord discuss the fate of Faust.

PROLOGUE IN HEAVEN

The Lord. The Heavenly Hosts. Later Mephistopheles. Three Archangels come forward.

RAPHAEL

In ways of old the sun sounds forth,

Where brother spheres as rivals sing,

Full-ending his pre-written course

With far-resounding thundering.

His aspect gives the angels might,

Though none may fathom his foundation.

Works, great beyond thought’s grasp, are bright

As on the first day of creation.

GABRIEL

And swiftly, swift beyond all grasping,

There spins the splendour of earth's light-

A paradise of brightness passing

To dark and shiver-filled, deep night.

And in broad streams up-foams the ocean

Upon the rocks' deep-founded base;

And rock and sea sweep on in motion

In planets' swift eternal race.

MICHAEL

And tempests roar in rivalry

From sea to land, from land to sea;

In fury forge wide chains that flare

With deepest working through the air.

There flashing desolations sear

The path before the thunder play;

Yet Lord, Your messengers revere

The gentle changes of Your day.

ALL THREE

This aspect gives the angels might,

While none may fathom Your foundation.

And all of Your high works are bright

As on the first day of creation.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Since You, O Lord, once again draw near

To ask how things are going down with us,

And since You used to like to see me, here

Am I where all Your household helpers fuss.

Please pardon, but I can't work high-worded styles,

Though all this circle mock and scoff.

I'm sure, my pathos would just make You laugh,

Had You not sworn off laughing this long while.

I've nothing grand to spout of sun and worlds,

I only see that humans plague themselves.

The world's small god is still the same, old way-

As deeply strange as on the dawn of its first day.

They'd lead a somewhat better life

If you'd withheld a seeming sheen of heaven's light.

They call it reason, merely using this

To be more bestial than any beast.

It seems, please pardon if it's impolite,

That his is that long-legged* grasshopper's plight,        (*legged one syllable not leggéd)

That tries to fly yet springs along

And in the grasses sings the same, old song.

Yet would he only lie within the grasses!

He pokes his nose in any poo he passes.

THE LORD

You've nothing further but this strain?

Come you but ever to complain?

Is nothing on the earth now ever right by you?

MEPHISTOPHELES

No, Lord! I find it there, as ever, bad right through.

I feel so saddened by the wretched lives of men

That even I am loath to torment them.

THE LORD

Do you know Faust?

MEPHISTOPHELES

The doctor?

THE LORD

My servant.

MEPHISTOPHELES

In truth, his way of serving's strange enough!

That madcap's drink and food's not earthly stuff.

His ferment urges him afar.

He's half-aware of his own craziness.

From heaven he demands the highest stars

And from the earth all highest happiness.

Yet nothing, from both near and far,

Can calm deep trouble brewing in his breast.

THE LORD

If He but serves Me in confusion's night,

Soon I shall lead him into greater light.

The gardener knows, although the sapling's green,

In coming years the flower and fruit are seen.

MEPHISTOPHELES

What will you bet? You'll still lose him I say

As long as I may have your leave

To lead him gently down my way.

THE LORD

As long as he's on earth alive

You're not forbidden to go ahead.

The human errs while yet it strives.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Thanks there. For never towards the dead

Have I a bias, so to speak.

For most of all I love the full, fresh cheek.

If corpses call, I'm not at home that day.

A cat upon a mouse, that's how I play.

THE LORD

Very well. Then you may have your day.

So drag his spirit from its ancient spring

And lead, if you can seize and cling,

Off there upon your downward way.

Then stand ashamed when finally you say,

A good man, with a dim, impulsive force,

Is well aware of rightly-rising course.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Good. Fine. And little time I'll take,

No fear I'll lose this bet. And for my sake,

When I attain my aim, my stake,

You'll let my heart fill with triumphant might.

Dust he'll devour and with delight,

Just like my cousin, the famous snake.

THE LORD

There too you may appear as free.

Your type has never had My hate.

Of all the spirits that deny, for Me

The roguish knave is least of weight.

The human's doing all too lightly slips to dream

And soon loves unconditional rest. Therefore

I'm pleased to partner them with one who's sure

To work and goad, with active devil-scheme.

But you, true sons of God, delight

In rich and vibrant beauty's sight.

May-Coming-To-Being, that ever works and lives,

Encompass you with gracious bounds of love.

And what's afloat in shimmering sheen-creation

Hold fast with lasting contemplation.

THE HEAVENS CLOSE, THE ARCHANGELS SEPARATE

MEPHISTOPHELES (ALONE)

I like to see the Old One from time to time;

And take pains not to break with Him. From the level

Of such a Great Lord, it is rather fine

To speak so humanly with the very devil.