A  goodly  throng  —  see  how  they  laugh  and  chatter !
Sweet    witches    all  —  they    have    their    working

days,
But  now  in  wanton  measure  to  and  fro
They  fill  a  vacant  hour  of  liberty.
Dance  on  !     Dance  on  !

\The  Witches  dance,  singing  as  they  move.
Witches'   Chorus

Through  fog  and  fen,  o'er  broom  and  heather,
From  hidden  caves  and  from  hill  and  dell,

As  leaves  that  scatter  and  drift  together
We  draw  to  our  master,  the  Lord  of  Hell.
SCI  FAUST  175

The  owlet's  cry  is  the  note  we  follow !

As  the  night-wind  whistles  its  ceaseless  tune,
We  hurry  and  scurry  o'er  hill  and  hollow

With  feet  as  fleet  as  the  racing  moon.
Now!    the  wind  is  hushed,  the  stars  are  falling,
The  moon  hath  fled !    The  skies  are  bare ;

Hark !     Hark  I    in  the  dark  'tis  the  owlet  calling !
The  night  is  waning.     Beware  !     Beware  !

Dost  hear  her  crying?

Below !     Below !
The  clouds  are  flying,
The  night  is  dying!

We  go !    We  go !

\As    the    sound    dies    away,    the    Witches
gradually  disappear.
176  FAUST  ACT  IV

Faust.  What  crazy  world  is  this?

Mephistopheles.    a  world  where  worlds  are
made  —  a  busy  hive
Of  murmuring  bees  whose  poisoned  honey-bags
Yield  to  men's  lips  that  bitter-sweet  called  Love.
Here  beauty  ere  it  takes  on  mortal  shape
Sips  at  the  fount  of  sin,  then  onward  speeding,
Enters  Life's  portals,  gathering  as  it  goes
The  voices  and  the  blossoms  of  the  Spring.
