playfully in profound luminous distances, and if my
freedom's avian wisdom hath come to me:--

--Thus however speaketh avian wisdom:--"Lo, there is no above and no
below! Throw thyself about,--outward, backward, thou light one! Sing!
speak no more!

--Are not all words made for the heavy? Do not all words lie to the
light ones? Sing! speak no more!"--

Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
rings--the ring of the return?

Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!

FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!

FOURTH AND LAST PART.

Ah, where in the world have there been greater follies than with the
pitiful? And what in the world hath caused more suffering than the
follies of the pitiful?

Woe unto all loving ones who have not an elevation which is above their
pity!

Thus spake the devil unto me, once on a time: "Even God hath his hell:
it is his love for man."

And lately did I hear him say these words: "God is dead: of his pity for
man hath God died."--ZARATHUSTRA, II., "The Pitiful."

LXI. THE HONEY SACRIFICE.

--And again passed moons and years over Zarathustra's soul, and he
heeded it not; his hair, however, became white. One day when he sat on
a stone in front of his cave, and gazed calmly into the distance--one
there gazeth out on the sea, and away beyond sinuous abysses,--then went
his animals thoughtfully round about him, and at last set themselves in
front of him.

"O Zarathustra," said they, "gazest thou out perhaps for thy
happiness?"--"Of what account is my happiness!" answered he, "I have
long ceased to strive any more for happiness, I strive for my work."--"O
Zarathustra," said the animals once more, "that sayest thou as one
who hath overmuch of good things. Liest thou not in a sky-blue lake of
happiness?"--"Ye wags," answered Zarathustra, and smiled, "how well did
ye choose the simile! But ye know also that my happiness is heavy, and
not like a fluid wave of water: it presseth me and will not leave me,
and is like molten pitch."--

Then went his animals again thoughtfully around him, and placed
themselves once more in front of him. "O Zarathustra," said they, "it is
consequently FOR THAT REASON that thou thyself always becometh yellower
and darker, although thy hair looketh white and flaxen? Lo, thou sittest
in thy pitch!"--"What do ye say, mine animals?" said