1.

When however Zarathustra had gone round a rock, then saw he on the same path, not far below him, a man who threw his limbs about like a maniac, and at last tumbled to the ground on his belly. “Halt!” said then Zarathustra to his heart, “he there must surely be the higher man, from him came that dreadful cry of distress,—I will see if I can help him.” When, however, he ran to the spot where the man lay on the ground, he found a trembling old man, with fixed eyes; and in spite of all Zarathustra’s efforts to lift him and set him again on his feet, it was all in vain. The unfortunate one, also, did not seem to notice that some one was beside him; on the contrary, he continually looked around with moving gestures, like one forsaken and isolated from all the world. At last, however, after much trembling, and convulsion, and curling-himself-up, he began to lament thus:

     Who warm’th me, who lov’th me still?
     Give ardent fingers!
     Give heartening charcoal-warmers!
     Prone, outstretched, trembling,
     Like him, half dead and cold, whose feet one warm’th—
     And shaken, ah! by unfamiliar fevers,
     Shivering with sharpened, icy-cold frost-arrows,
     By thee pursued, my fancy!
     Ineffable!  Recondite!  Sore-frightening!
     Thou huntsman ‘hind the cloud-banks!
     Now lightning-struck by thee,
     Thou mocking eye that me in darkness watcheth:
     —Thus do I lie,
     Bend myself, twist myself, convulsed
     With all eternal torture,
     And smitten
     By thee, cruellest huntsman,
     Thou unfamiliar—GOD...

     Smite deeper!
     Smite yet once more!
     Pierce through and rend my heart!
     What mean’th this torture
     With dull, indented arrows?
     Why look’st thou hither,
     Of human pain not weary,
     With mischief-loving, godly flash-glances?
     Not murder wilt thou,
     But torture, torture?
     For why—ME torture,
     Thou mischief-loving, unfamiliar God?—

     Ha!  Ha!
     Thou stealest nigh
     In midnight’s gloomy hour?...
     What wilt thou?
     Speak!
     Thou crowdst me, pressest—
     Ha! now far too closely!
     Thou hearst me breathing,
     Thou o’erhearst my heart,
     Thou ever jealous one!
     —Of what, pray, ever jealous?
     Off!  Off!
     For why the ladder?
     Wouldst thou GET IN?
     To heart in-clamber?
     To mine own secretest
     Conceptions in-clamber?
     Shameless one!  Thou unknown one!—Thief!
     What seekst thou by thy stealing?
     What seekst thou by thy hearkening?
     What seekst thou by thy torturing?
     Thou torturer!
     Thou—hangman-God!
     Or shall I, as the mastiffs do,
     Roll me before thee?
     And cringing, enraptured, frantical,
     My tail friendly—waggle!

     In vain!
     Goad further!
     Cruellest goader!
     No dog—thy game just am I,
     Cruellest huntsman!
     Thy proudest of captives,
     Thou robber ‘hind the cloud-banks...
     Speak finally!
     Thou lightning-veiled one!  Thou unknown one!  Speak!
     What wilt thou, highway-ambusher, from—ME?
     What WILT thou, unfamiliar—God?
     What?
     Ransom-gold?
     How much of ransom-gold?
     Solicit much—that bid’th my pride!
     And be concise—that bid’th mine other pride!

     Ha!  Ha!
     ME—wantst thou?  me?
     —Entire?...

     Ha!  Ha!
     And torturest me, fool that thou art,
     Dead-torturest quite my pride?
     Give LOVE to me—who warm’th me still?
     Who lov’th me still?—
     Give ardent fingers
     Give heartening charcoal-warmers,
     Give me, the lonesomest,
     The ice (ah! seven-fold frozen ice
     For very enemies,
     For foes, doth make one thirst).
     Give, yield to me,
     Cruellest foe,
     —THYSELF!—

     Away!
     There fled he surely,
     My final, only comrade,
     My greatest foe,
     Mine unfamiliar—
     My hangman-God!...

     —Nay!
     Come thou back!
     WITH all of thy great tortures!
     To me the last of lonesome ones,
     Oh, come thou back!
     All my hot tears in streamlets tr............