Up went the finger, but that royal eye,
Whose cunning saw through human life, was dim,
And fast becoming traitor unto him
Who used it with such magic. Ever nigh
And nigher, death crept to the feeble heart;
But, as the misty darkness came apace,
There slowly rose upon the sinking face
The soul's desire of Faust—the better part,
Which, working through a long, long life, became
A second being. Wrapt in earthly bands,
That now were giving way for other lands,
Whose light, slow dawning, was not held the same
As his—but as a darkness unto him—
'More light.' It came, and all grew still and dim.