The air grows cool, the mists ascend!
At night we learn our homes to prize.--
Why dost thou stop and stare with all thy eyes?
What can so chain thy sight there, in the gloaming?

_Faust_. Seest thou that black dog through stalks and stubble roaming?

_Wagner_. I saw him some time since, he seemed not strange to me.

_Faust_. Look sharply! What dost take the beast to be?

_Wagner_. For some poor poodle who has lost his master,
And, dog-like, scents him o'er the ground.

_Faust_. Markst thou how, ever nearer, ever faster,
Towards us his spiral track wheels round and round?
And if my senses suffer no confusion,
Behind him trails a fiery glare.

_Wagner_. 'Tis probably an optical illusion;
I still see only a black poodle there.

_Faust_. He seems to me as he were tracing slyly
His magic rings our feet at last to snare.

_Wagner_. To me he seems to dart around our steps so shyly,
As if he said: is one of them my master there?

_Faust_. The circle narrows, he is near!