Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 56, Number 348. Various

new life is this revealing!

      What thou wert, thou art no more.

      All once dear to thee is vanish’d,

      All that marr’d thy peace is banish’d,

      Gone thy trouble and thine ease—

      Ah! whence come such woes as these?

      Does the bloom of youth bright-gleaming—

      Does that form of purest light—

      Do these eyes so sweetly beaming,

      Chain thee with resistless might?

      When the charm I’d wildly sever—

      Man myself to fly for ever—

      Ah! or yet the thought can stir,

      Back my footsteps fly to her.

      With such magic meshes laden,

      All too closely round me cast,

      Holds me that bewitching maiden,

      An unwilling captive fast.

      In her charméd sphere delaying,

      Must I live, her will obeying—

      Ah! how great the change in me!

      Love—O love, do set me free!

      One other mood of love, and we leave the apprentice of Cornelius Agrippa to bring up the rear. Goethe is said to have been somewhat fickle in his attachments—most poets are—but here is one instance where passion appears to have prevailed over absence.

      Separation

      I think of thee whene’er the sun is glowing

      Upon the lake;

      Of thee, when in the crystal fountain flowing

      The moonbeams shake.

      I see thee when the wanton wind is busy,

      And dust-clouds rise;

      In the deep night, when o’er the bridge so dizzy

      The wanderer hies.

      I hear thee when the waves, with hollow roaring,

      Gush forth their fill;

      Often along the heath I go exploring,

      When all is still.

      I am with thee! Though far thou art and darkling,

      Yet art thou near.

      The sun goes down, the stars will soon be sparkling—

      Oh, wert thou here!

      If we recollect right—for it is a long time since we studied the occult sciences—Wierius, in his erudite volume “De Prestigiis Demonum,” recounts the story which is celebrated in the following ballad. Something like it is to be found in the biography of every magician; for the household staff of a wizard was not complete without a famulus, who usually proved to be a fellow of considerable humour, but endowed with the meddling propensities of a monkey. Thus, Doctor Faustus of Wittenburg—not at all to be confounded with the illustrious printer—had a perfect jewel in the person of his attendant Wagner; and our English Friar Bacon was equally fortunate in Miles, his trusty squire. Each of these gentlemen, in their master’s absence, attempted a little conjuring on their own account; but with no better success than the nameless attendant of Agrippa, whom Goethe has sought to immortalize. There is a great deal of grotesque humour in the manufacture, agility, and multiplication of the domestic Kobold.

      The Magician’s Apprentice

      Huzzah, huzzah! His back is fairly

      Turn’d about, the wizard old;

      And I’ll now his spirits rarely

      To my will and pleasure mould!

      His spells and orgies—ha’n’t I

      Mark’d them all aright?

      And I’ll do wonders, sha’n’t I?

      And deeds of mickle might.

      Bubble, bubble;

      Fast and faster!

      Hear your master,

      Hear his calling—

      Water! flow in measures double,

      To the bath in torrents falling!

      Ho, thou batter’d broomstick! take ye

      This old seedy coat, and wear it—

      Ah, thou household drudge, I’ll make ye

      Do my bidding; ay, and fear it.

      Stand on legs, old tramper!

      Here’s a head—I’ve stuck it—

      Now be off—hey, scamper

      With the water-bucket!

      Bubble, bubble;

      Fast and faster!

      Hear your master,

      Hear his calling—

      Water! flow in measure double,

      To the bath in torrents falling!

      See, ’tis off—’tis at the river—

      In the stream the bucket flashes;

      Now ’tis back—and down, or ever

      You can wink; the burden dashes.

      Again, again, and quicker!

      The floor is in a swim,

      And every stoup and bicker

      Is running o’er the brim.

      Stop, now stop!

      For you’ve granted

      All I wanted

      Well and neatly—

      Gracious me! I’m like to drop—

      I’ve forgot the word completely!

      Oh, the word, so strong and baleful,

      To make it what it was before!

      There it skips with pail on pailful—

      Would thou wert a broom once more!

      Still new streams he scatters,

      Round and ever round me—

      Oh, a hundred waters

      Rushing in have bound me!

      No—no longer

      Can I bear it.

      No, I swear it!

      Gifts and graces!

      Woe is me, my fears grow stronger,

      Look what grinnings, what grimaces!

      Wilt thou, offspring of the devil,

      Soak the house to please thy funning?

      Even now, above the level

      Of the door the water’s running.

      Broom accurst, that will not

      Hear, although I roar!

      Stick! be now, and fail not,

      What thou wert before!

      You will joke me?

      I’ll not bear it,

      No, I swear it!

      I will catch you;

      And with axe, if you provoke me,

      In a twinkling I’ll dispatch you.

      Back it comes—will nought prevent it?

      If I only turn me to thee,

      Soon, O Kobold! thou’lt repent it,

      When the steel goes crashing through thee.

      Bravely