Faust is lying on flowery turf, tired and restless, trying to sleep. A circle of tiny, graceful spirits hovers round him.
ARIEL (Chanting, accompanied by Aeolian Harps.) When the springtime blossoms, falling, Shower down, and cover all things, When the fields with greener blessing Dazzle all the world of earthlings, Little elves, but great in spirit, Haste to help, where help they can, And, be he holy, be he wicked, Pity they the luckless man.
You, hovering in airy circles, round his head Show yourselves in proud elf-form, instead, Calm all the fierce resistance of his heart, Remove the bitter barbs of sharp remorse, Free him from past terrors, by your art.
Four are the watches night makes in its course, At once, now, mercifully, let the dark depart.
Let his head sink down on pillow's coolness, Next sprinkle him with dew from Lethe's stream: Then let his joints be free of cramps and stiffness, So that he's strong enough to greet day's gleam:
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