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33 - Thus Spake Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche · Logic Library

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Part two, Chapter thirty three. The grave song yonder is the grave island,
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the silent isle Yonder also are the graves of my youth. Thither will
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I carry an evergreen wreath of life, resolving Thus in my heart did I
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sail o'er the sea, O ye sights and scenes of my youth? O
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all ye gleams of love, Ye divine fleeting gleams. How could ye perish
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so soon? For me think of you to day as my dead ones from
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you, my dearest dead ones, cometh unto me a sweet savor heart opening
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and melting. Verily it convulseth and openeth the heart of the lone seafarer.
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Still am I the richest and most to be envied, I the lonesomest one.
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For I have possessed you, an ye possess me. Still tell me
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to whom hath there ever fallen such rosy apples from the tree as have fallen
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unto me? Still am I your love's air and heritage, blooming to your
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memory with many hued, wild growing virtues. O, ye dearest ones,
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Ah, we were made to remain nigh unto each other, Ye kindly strange
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marvels, and not like timid birds, did ye come to me in my
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longing? Nay? But as trusting ones too, A trusting one yea made
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for faithfulness like me and for fond eternities. Must I now name you by
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your faithlessness, ye, divine glances and fleeting gleams. No other name have
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I yet learned? Verily? Too early? Did ye die for me?
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Ye? Fugitives? Yet did ye not flee from me? Nor did I
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flee from you? Innocent? Are we to each other? In our faithlessness?
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To kill me? Did they strangle you, ye, singing birds of
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my hopes? Yea? At you, ye dearest ones? Did malice ever
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shoot its arrows to hit my heart? And they hid it? Because ye
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were always my dearest? My possession and my possessiveness on that account had ye
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to die young and far too early, at my most vulnerable point? Did
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they shoot the arrow? Namely at ye whose skin is like down, or
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more like the smile that dieth at a glance. But this word, while
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I say, unto mine enemies, what is all manslaughter in comparison with what
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ye have done unto me? Worse evil did ye do unto me than all
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manslaughter? The irretrievable did ye take from me? Thus do I speak unto
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you, mine enemies? Slew ye not my youth's vision, And dearest marvels,
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my playmates took ye from me, the blessed spirits to their memory.
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Do I deposit this wreath and this curse, this curse upon you, mine
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enemies? Have you not made mine eternal? Short? As a tone?
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Dieth away in a cold night? Scarcely as the twinkle of divine eyes?
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Did it come to me as a fleeting gleam? Thus spake once in a
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happy hour my purity divine? Shall everything be unto me? Then did ye
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haunt me with foul phantoms? Whether hath that happy hour now fled? All
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days shall be wholy unto me? So spake once the wisdom of my youth,
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verily the language of a joyous wisdom. But then did ye enemy steal
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my nights and sold them to sleepless torture? Whither hath that joyous wisdom now
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fled? Once did I long for happy auspices? Then did ye lead an
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howl monster across my path and adverse sight? How whither did my tender logging
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then flee? All loathing? Did I once vow to renounce. Then did
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ye change myne nigh ones and nearest ones into ulcerations? How whither did my
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noblest vow then flee as a blind one? Did I once walk in blessed
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ways? Then did ye cast filth on the blind one's course? And now
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he is disgusted with the old footpath. When I performed my hardest task and
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celebrated the triumph my victories, then did ye make those who loved me call
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out? That I then grieved them the most? Verily? It was always
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your doing. Ye embittered to me my best honey, and the diligence of
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my best bees to my charity? Have ye ever sent the most impudent beggars
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around my sympathy? Have ye ever crowded the incurably shameless? Thus have ye
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wounded the faith of my virtue? And when I offered my holiest as a
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sacrifice, immediately did your piety put its fatter gifts beside it, so that
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my holiest suffocated in the fumes of your fat And once did I want to
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dance as I had never yet danced? Beyond all heavens? Did I want
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to dance? Then did ye seduce my favorite minstrel And now hath he struck
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up an awful, melancholy are alas he tooted as a mournful horn to mine
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ear, murderous minstrel, instrument of evil, most innocent instrument. Already did
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I stand prepared for the best dance? Then didst thou slay my rapture with
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thy tones? Only in the dance do I know how to speak the parable
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of the highest things? And now hath my grandest parable remained unspoken in my
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limbs, unspoken and unrealized. Hath my highest hope remained, and there have
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perished for me all the vision and consolations of my youth? How did I
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ever bearn How did I survive and surmount such wounds? How did my soul
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rise again out of those sepultures? YEA, something invulnerable, unbeariable is with
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me, something that would rend rocks asunder? It is called my will?
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Silently doth it proceed and unchanged throughout the years? Its course? Will it
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go upon my feet? Mine old will? Heart of heart is the nature
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and invulnerable, invulnerable? Am I only in my heel ever livest thou there
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and art like thyself? Thou most patient one ever hast thou burst all shackles
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of the tomb. In THEE still livest also the unrealizedness of my youth.
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And as life and youth sittest, thou here hopefully on the yellow ruins of
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graves. Yea, thou art still for me, the demolisher of all graves.
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Hail to THEE my will. And only where there are graves are their
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resurrections. Thus sang Zarathustra, end of Chapter thirty three,