81
Wilt thou grasp at the thorns? Thy fingers must pay. Grasp at a poniard.
85
Be a tablet of gold, They will grave upon thee In golden script.
86
Upright he stands With more sense of "justice" In his outermost toe Than I have in all my head. A virtue-monster Mantled in white.
87
Already he mimics himself, Already weary he grows, Already he seeks the paths he has trod-- Who of late still loved all tracks untrodden!
Secretly burnt-- Not for his faith, Rather because he had lost the heart To find new faith.
88
Too long he sat in the cage, That runaway! Too long he dreaded A gaoler!
Timorous now he goeth his ways, All things make him to stumble-- The shadow e'en of a stick makes him to stumble.
89
Ye chambers smoky and musty, Ye cages and narrow hearts, How could your spirit be free?
90
Narrow souls! Huckster-souls! When money leaps into the box The soul leaps into it too![2]
92
Are ye women, That ye wish to suffer From that which ye love?
99
They are cold, these men of learning! Would that a lightning-flash might strike their food, And their mouths could learn to eat fire!
101
Your false love For the past, A love for the graves of the dead, Is a theft from life That steals all the future. * * * * An antiquary Is a craftsman of dead things, Who lives among coffins and skeletons.
103
Only the poet who can lie Wilfully, skilfully, Can tell the truth.
104
Our chase after truth, Is't a chase after happiness?
105
Truth Is a woman, no better, Cunning in her shame: Of what she likes best She will know naught, And covers her face.... To what doth she yield But to violence? Violence she needs. Be hard, ye sages! Ye must compel her, That shamefaced Truth.... For her happiness She needs constraint--She is a woman, no better.
106
We thought evil of each other? We were too distant, But now in this tiny hut, Pinned to one destiny, How could we still be foes? We must needs love those Whom we cannot escape.
107
Love thy foe, Let the robber rob thee: The woman hears and--does it.
110
A proud eye With silken curtains, Seldom clear, Honours him that may see it unveiled.
111
Sluggard eyes That seldom love-- But when they love, the levin flashes As from shafts of gold Where a dagger keeps guard at the treasure of love.
117
They are crabs, for whom I have no fellow-feeling. Grasp them, they pinch you; Leave them alone, and they walk backward.
119
Crooked go great rivers and men, Crooked, but turned to their goal; That is their highest courage, They dreaded not crooked paths.
121
Wouldst catch them? Then speak to them As to stray sheep: "Your path, your path You have lost!" They follow all That flatter them so: "What? had we a path?" Each whispers the other: "It really seems that we have a path."
[The numbering given corresponds to that of the original, several fragments having been omitted.--TR.]
[Footnote 1: Nietzsche here alludes to Christian perfection, which he considers equivalent to harmlessness.--TR.]
[Footnote 2: Alluding to the saying of the Dominican monk Tetzel, who sold indulgences in the time of Luther: "When money leaps into the box, the soul leaps from hell to heaven!"--TR.]
HYMN TO LIFE.
_For Chorus and Orchestra._ WORDS BY LOU SALOMÉ. MUSIC BY FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE. Trans. BY HERMAN SCHEFFAUER. Arr. for Piano BY ADRIAN COLLINS. M.A.
[Illustration: score and lyrics]