thought proper to vary the expression, and gives us "from seas o'er land, from land o'er ocean," probably for the purpose of showing his great command of language. But we cannot help thinking that his alteration entirely ruins the effect or the line. "In conflict mad engaging." In reading this we feel as if we were setting our foot on a bit of rotten scaffolding, and accordingly withdraw it as quickly as possible, and leap on to the next. But what "deep-laid barriers built by the motions of the storm" may be, is more than we can tell. The original informs us that the restless agency of storms has the greatest possible effect in quickening and forwarding the operations of nature, namely, vegetation and so forth; and there is some sense in that; but in this translation of the passage, there is none. In the last line, the word "tenure" is evidently a mistake for "tenor;" the former signifying the condition upon which any thing is held, the latter its course or going.
Such is the manner in which Mr Crithannah "closely imitates Goethe," "approaches to a display of his versification," and steers clear of "a cramped verbality." Although mere critics, we think we could do the thing better ourselves, and shall accordingly make the attempt, although in trying to cope with the original, we confess we feel somewhat in the predicament of a pigmy endeavouring to clap the head of a giant.
RAPHAEL.
The sun is, yonder, leading loud
The concert of the starry crowd,
And, with a tread of thunder-force,
Fulfilling his appointed course.
The angels gather, while they gaze,
His strength but fathom not his ways,—
There's not one trait of glory dimm'd
Since first creations birth was hymned.
GABRIEL.
And earth in rapid, rapid flight
Is whirling round,—you, yonder, mark
Her dark side flashing into light,
And, in a moment, round to dark,
The sea is yonder raving hoarse,
The rocks are yonder standing fast,
And sea and rocks, in endless course,
'Mid racing spheres, are tearing past.
MICHAEL.
And, yonder, storms and rising wrath
Are sweeping seas, and sweeping shores,
Dispersing powers along their path,
That quicken her through all her pores.
Thunder is rending yonder sky,
And lightning wasting yonder clime,
But here, they lay their terrors by,
And reverence the holy time.
This strain being finished, the drama commences. The parallel between it in the opening scene in Job (not Crithannah), is still carried on. Mephistopheles comes forward and addresses the Deity, who after some colloquy, asks him "do you know Faust?" Now in giving the devil's answer to this question, and the counter-answer which he receives, we perceive that all the translators (Mr. Hayward not excepted) have entirely missed the point and spirit of the dialogue. When the Deity asks "Do you know Faust?"—The translators make Mephistopheles rejoin,—"do you mean Dr. Faust?"—as if he required information, as not being sure of what some other Faust might be meant, and to this the deity is made to reply, "Yes—my servant. Do you know him?"
But in our opinion something far more dramatic and effective than this is conveyed in the original. In answer to the Deity's question, Mephistopheles replies, not inquiringly, but sarcastically, "Oh! you mean the Doctor?"—giving him his nickname in a tone of the bitterest scoffing, which irreverence is immediately and sternly put down by the way the weighty rebuke, "Meinen knecht,—that is, He is my servant, mark you, and must, therefore, be spoken of with respect." It is exactly as if one person were to say to another, "Do you know Maginn?" and that other were to rejoin,—"Oh! To be sure who does not know 'the Doctor'?"
And were immediately to meet with this rebuff from the first speaker—"I beg you to understand, sir, that he is my most particular friend, and therefore I cannot submit to hear him call disrespectful nicknames." We hope that, in the next translation of Faust we may see this matter rectified by the light we have here hung out.
The aspiring nature of Faust desires, and the fruitless notice of his endeavors to get them gratified our next described by Mephistopheles, whose language is thus interpreted. We quote from Mr. Blackie's translation.
"His food and drink are of no earthly taste,
His restless spirit drives him to the waste,
