Why hurled he himself from the heights? What led him astray? His pity for all that is lowly led him astray, And now he lies there, broken, useless, and cold. 72 Whither went he? Who knows? We only know that he sank. A star went out in the desolate void, And lone was the void. 73 What we have not But need, We must take. And so a good conscience I took. 74 Who is there that could bestow right upon thee? So take thy right! 75 O ye waves, Wondrous waves, are ye wroth with me? Do ye raise me your crests in wrath? With my rudder I smite Your folly full square. This bark ye yourselves To immortal life will carry along. 77 When no new voice was heard, Ye made from old words A law: When life grows stark, there shoots up the law. 78 What none can refute Ye say must be true? Oh, ye innocents! 79 Art thou strong? Strong as an ass? Strong as God? Art thou proud? So proud as to flaunt Unashamed thy conceit? 80 Beware, And ne'er beat the drum Of thy destiny I Go out of the way From all pom-pom of fame! * * * * Be not known too soon! Be one that has hoarded renown! 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