Фридрих Ницше - The Joyful Wisdom

Venture, comrades, I implore you,
On the fare I set before you,
You will like it more to-morrow,
Better still the following day:
If yet more you're then requiring,
Old success I'll find inspiring,
And fresh courage thence will borrow
Novel dainties to display.

Weary of Seeking had I grown,
So taught myself the way to Find:
Back by the storm I once was blown,
But follow now, where drives the wind.

Where you're standing, dig, dig out:
Down below's the Well:
Let them that walk in darkness shout:
"Down below – there's Hell!"

A. Was I ill? and is it ended?
Pray, by what physician tended?
I recall no pain endured!
B. Now I know your trouble's ended:
He that can forget, is cured.

Let our virtues be easy and nimble-footed in
motion,
Like unto Homer's verse ought they to come and
to go.

Stay not on level plain,
Climb not the mount too high.
But half-way up remain —
The world you'll best descry!

Attracted by my style and talk
You'd follow, in my footsteps walk?
Follow yourself unswervingly,
So – careful! – shall you follow me.

My skin bursts, breaks for fresh rebirth,
And new desires come thronging:
Much I've devoured, yet for more earth
The serpent in me's longing.
'Twixt stone and grass I crawl once more,
Hungry, by crooked ways,
To eat the food I ate before,
Earth-fare all serpents praise!

My luck's good – I'd make yours fairer,
(Good luck ever needs a sharer),
Will you stop and pluck my roses?
Oft mid rocks and thorns you'll linger,
Hide and stoop, suck bleeding finger —
Will you stop and pluck my roses?
For my good luck's a trifle vicious,
Fond of teasing, tricks malicious —
Will you stop and pluck my roses?

Many drops I waste and spill,
So my scornful mood you curse:
Who to brim his cup doth fill,
Many drops must waste and spill —
Yet he thinks the wine no worse.

Harsh and gentle, fine and mean,
Quite rare and common, dirty and clean,
The fools' and the sages' go-between:
All this I will be, this have been,
Dove and serpent and swine, I ween!

That eye and sense be not fordone
E'en in the shade pursue the sun!

Smoothest ice,
A paradise
To him who is a dancer nice.

A feud that knows not flaw nor break,
Rather then patched-up friendship, take.

Rust's needed: keenness will not satisfy!
"He is too young!" the rabble loves to cry.

"How shall I reach the top?" No time
For thus reflecting! Start to climb!

Ask never! Cease that whining, pray!
Take without asking, take alway!

Narrow souls hate I like the devil,
Souls wherein grows nor good nor evil.

He shot an empty word
Into the empty blue;
But on the way it met
A woman whom it slew.

A twofold pain is easier far to bear
Than one: so now to suffer wilt thou dare?

Brother, to puff thyself up ne'er be quick:
For burst thou shalt be by a tiny prick!

"The woman seize, who to thy heart appeals!"
Man's motto: woman seizes not, but steals.

If I explain my wisdom, surely
'Tis but entangled more securely,
I can't expound myself aright:
But he that's boldly up and doing,
His own unaided course pursuing,
Upon my image casts more light!

Those old capricious fancies, friend!
You say your palate naught can please,
I hear you bluster, spit and wheeze,
My love, my patience soon will end!
Pluck up your courage, follow me —
Here's a fat toad! Now then, don't blink,
Swallow it whole, nor pause to think!
From your dyspepsia you'll be free!

Many men's minds I know full well,
Yet what mine own is, cannot tell.
I cannot see – my eye's too near —
And falsely to myself appear.
'Twould be to me a benefit
Far from myself if I could sit,
Less distant than my enemy,
And yet my nearest friend's too nigh —
'Twixt him and me, just in the middle!
What do I ask for? Guess my riddle.

I must ascend an hundred stairs,
I must ascend: the herd declares
I'm cruel: "Are we made of stone?"
I must ascend an hundred stairs:
All men the part of stair disown.

"No longer path! Abyss and silence chilling!"
Thy fault! To leave the path thou wast too willing!
Now comes the test! Keep cool – eyes bright and clear!
Thou'rt lost for sure, if thou permittest – fear.

See the infant, helpless creeping —
Swine around it grunt swine-talk —
Weeping always, naught but weeping,
Will it ever learn to walk?
Never fear! Just wait, I swear it
Soon to dance will be inclined,
And this babe, when two legs bear it,
Standing on its head you'll find.

Did I not turn, a rolling cask,
Ever about myself, I ask,
How could I without burning run
Close on the track of the hot sun?

Too nigh, my friend my joy doth mar,
I'd have him high above and far,
Or how can he become my star?