Wagner monologue (Act 7) — Faust: A Tragedy

Invoke not rash the well-known spirit-throng, That stream unseen the atmosphere along, And dangers thousandfold prepare, Weak men from every quarter to ensnare. From the keen north in troops they float, With sharpest teeth and arrow-pointed tongues; From the harsh east they bring a blasting drought, And feed with wasting greed upon thy lungs. When from the arid south their sultry powers They send, hot fires upheaping on thy crown, The West brings forth his swarms with cooling showers, To end in floods that sweep thy harvests down. Quick-ear'd are they, on wanton mischief bent, And work our will with surer bait to ply us; They show as fair as heaven's own couriers sent, And lisp like angels when they most belie us. But let us hence! the air is chill, The cold gray mists are creeping down the hill, Now is the time to seek the bright fireside. Why standest thou with strange eyes opened wide? What twilight-spectre may thy fancy trouble?