From High Mountains. Aftersong
Original German
Aus hohen Bergen.
Nachgesang.
Oh Lebens Mittag! Feierliche Zeit!Oh Sommergarten!Unruhig Glück im Stehn und Spähn und Warten:—Der Freunde harr' ich, Tag und Nacht bereit,Wo bleibt ihr Freunde? Kommt! 's ist Zeit! 's ist Zeit!
War's nicht für euch, dass sich des Gletschers GrauHeut schmückt mit Rosen?Euch sucht der Bach, sehnsüchtig drängen, stossenSich Wind und Wolke höher heut in's Blau,Nach euch zu spähn aus fernster Vogel-Schau.
Im Höchsten ward für euch mein Tisch gedeckt:—Wer wohnt den SternenSo nahe, wer des Abgrunds grausten Fernen?Mein Reich—welch Reich hat weiter sich gereckt?Und meinen Honig—wer hat ihn geschmeckt?…
—Da seid ihr, Freunde!—Weh, doch ich bin's nicht,Zu dem ihr wolltet?Ihr zögert, staunt—ach, dass ihr lieber grolltet!Ich—bin's nicht mehr? Vertauscht Hand, Schritt, Gesicht?Und was ich bin, euch Freunden—bin ich's nicht?
Ein Andrer ward ich? Und mir selber fremd?Mir selbst entsprungen?Ein Ringer, der zu oft sich selbst bezwungen?Zu oft sich gegen eigne Kraft gestemmt,Durch eignen Sieg verwundet und gehemmt?
Ich suchte, wo der Wind am schärfsten weht?Ich lernte wohnen,Wo Niemand wohnt, in öden Eisbär-Zonen,Verlernte Mensch und Gott, Fluch und Gebet?Ward zum Gespenst, das über Gletscher geht?
—Ihr alten Freunde! Seht! Nun blickt ihr bleich,Voll Lieb' und Grausen!Nein, geht! Zürnt nicht! Hier—könntet ihr nicht hausen:Hier zwischen fernstem Eis- und Felsenreich—Hier muss man Jäger sein und gemsengleich.
Ein schlimmer Jäger ward ich!—Seht, wie steilGespannt mein Bogen!Der Stärkste war's, der solchen Zug gezogen--:Doch wehe nun! Gefährlich ist der Pfeil,Wie kein Pfeil,—fort von hier! Zu eurem Heil!…
Ihr wendet euch?—Oh Herz, du trugst genung,Stark blieb dein Hoffen:Halt neuen Freunden deine Thüren offen!Die alten lass! Lass die Erinnerung!Warst einst du jung, jetzt—bist du besser jung!
Was je uns knüpfte, Einer Hoffnung Band,—Wer liest die Zeichen,Die Liebe einst hineinschrieb, noch, die bleichen?Dem Pergament vergleich ich's, das die Handzu fassen scheut,—ihm gleich verbräunt, verbrannt.
Nicht Freunde mehr, das sind—wie nenn' ich's doch?—Nur Freunds-Gespenster!Das klopft mir wohl noch Nachts an Herz und Fenster,Das sieht mich an und spricht: "wir waren's doch?"--Oh welkes Wort, das einst wie Rosen roch!
Oh Jugend-Sehnen, das sich missverstand!Die ich ersehnte,Die ich mir selbst verwandt-verwandelt wähnte,Dass alt sie wurden, hat sie weggebannt:Nur wer sich wandelt, bleibt mit mir verwandt.
Oh Lebens Mittag! Zweite Jugendzeit!Oh Sommergarten!Unruhig Glück im Stehn und Spähn und Warten!Der Freunde harr' ich, Tag und Nacht bereit,Der neuen Freunde! Kommt! 's ist Zeit! 's ist Zeit!
Dies Lied ist aus,—der Sehnsucht süsser SchreiErstarb im Munde:Ein Zaubrer that's, der Freund zur rechten Stunde,Der Mittags-Freund—nein! fragt nicht, wer es sei—Um Mittag war's, da wurde Eins zu Zwei…
Nun feiern wir, vereinten Siegs gewiss,Das Fest der Feste:Freund Zarathustra kam, der Gast der Gäste!Nun lacht die Welt, der grause Vorhang riss,Die Hochzeit kam für Licht und Finsterniss…
Musean translation
Complete machine-assisted Musean translation, made directly from the German and reviewed against it.
From High Mountains.
Aftersong.
Oh noon of life! Solemn time!Oh summer garden!Restless happiness in standing, watching, waiting:—I wait for friends, ready by day and night,Where are you, friends? Come! It is time! It is time!
Was it not for you the glacier's grayToday adorns itself with roses?The stream seeks you; with longing, wind and cloudPress, thrust themselves today into a higher blue,To seek you from the farthest bird's-eye view.
On the heights my table was set for you:—Who to the starsLives quite so near—or to the abyss's most dreadful reaches?My realm—what realm has stretched itself out farther?And my honey—who has tasted it?…
—There you are, friends!—Alas, but I am notThe one you sought?You hesitate, marvel—oh, if only you were angry!I—am no longer I? Have hand, step, face been changed?And what I am, to you my friends—am I not that?
Have I become another? And a stranger to myself?Escaped from my own self?A wrestler who has overcome himself too often?Too often braced himself against his own strength,Wounded and checked by his own victory?
Did I seek where the wind blows sharpest?Did I learn to liveWhere no one lives, in barren polar-bear zones,Unlearn humanity and God, curse and prayer?Become a ghost that walks across the glaciers?
—You old friends! Look! Now you gaze pale,Full of love and horror!No, go! Do not be angry! Here—you could not live:Here among the farthest realms of ice and rock—Here one must be a hunter, like the chamois.
A wicked hunter I became!—See how steeplyMy bow is drawn!The strongest was the one who drew it so—:But now beware! Dangerous is this arrow,As no arrow is—away from here! For your own good!…
You turn away?—Oh heart, you have borne enough,Your hope remained strong:Keep your doors open to new friends!Let the old ones go! Let memory go!Once you were young; now—you are young in a better way!
What once bound us, the bond of a single hope—Who still reads the faded signsThat love once wrote upon it?I compare it to parchment that the handShrinks from touching—equally browned and burned.
No longer friends, they are—what shall I call them?—Only ghosts of friends!They still knock at night upon my heart and window,Look at me and say: “But we were the ones?”—Oh withered word that once smelled like roses!
Oh youthful longing that misunderstood itself!Those I longed for,Whom I imagined kindred to myself and transformed—Their growing old has banished them:Only those who change remain akin to me.
Oh noon of life! Time of second youth!Oh summer garden!Restless happiness in standing, watching, waiting!I wait for friends, ready by day and night,For new friends! Come! It is time! It is time!
This song is done—longing's sweet cryDied in my mouth:A magician did it, the friend at the right hour,The noonday friend—no! Do not ask who he is—It was at noon that one became two…
Now, certain of our shared victory, we celebrateThe feast of feasts:Friend Zarathustra came, the guest of guests!Now the world laughs, the dreadful curtain tore,The wedding of the light and dark has come…
Plain English translation
Complete machine-assisted Plain English translation, made independently and directly from the German and reviewed against it.
From High Mountains.
Aftersong.
Oh, noon of life! A solemn time!Oh, summer garden!Restless happiness in standing, scanning, waiting:I wait for friends, ready day and night.Where are you, friends? Come! It’s time! It’s time!
Wasn’t it for you that the glacier’s grayAdorns itself with roses today?The stream seeks you; longingly wind and cloud push and jostleHigher into the blue today,To scan for you from the farthest bird’s-eye view.
At the very top, my table was set for you:—Who lives as near the stars,And as near the abyss’s most dreadful reaches?My realm—what realm has stretched itself farther?And my honey—who has tasted it?…
There you are, friends! Alas, but I am not the oneYou wanted to reach?You hesitate, stare in wonder—ah, if only you were angry instead!I—am no longer the one? Hand, step, face all changed?And what I am, my friends—am I not that to you?
Have I become another? A stranger to myself?Sprung free from myself?A wrestler who has overcome himself too often?Too often braced himself against his own strength,Wounded and held back by his own victory?
Did I seek where the wind blows sharpest?Did I learn to liveWhere no one lives, in barren polar-bear regions,Unlearn humanity and God, curse and prayer?Become a ghost that walks over glaciers?
You old friends! Look! Now you look pale,Full of love and horror!No, go! Do not be angry! You could not live here:Here between the most distant realms of ice and rock—Here one must be a hunter and like a chamois.
I have become a wicked hunter! Look how sharplyMy bow is drawn!The strongest was the one who drew it so—:But now beware! Dangerous is that arrow,Like no other arrow—away from here! For your own good!…
You turn away? Oh, heart, you have borne enough,Your hope stayed strong:Keep your doors open to new friends!Let the old ones go! Let memory go!Once you were young; now—you are young in a better way!
What once bound us, the bond of a single hope—Who can still read the pale signsThat love once wrote into it?I compare it to parchment that the handFears to grasp—equally browned and burned.
No longer friends, these are—what shall I call them?—Only ghosts of friends!They still knock at night upon my heart and window,Look at me and say, “But we were the ones?”—Oh, withered word that once smelled like roses!
Oh, youthful longing that misunderstood itself!Those I longed for,Whom I thought were like me and had changed,Their growing old has banished them:Only those who change remain akin to me.
Oh, noon of life! A second time of youth!Oh, summer garden!Restless happiness in standing, scanning, waiting!I wait for friends, ready day and night,For new friends! Come! It’s time! It’s time!
This song is over—the sweet cry of longingDied in my mouth:A magician did it, the friend at the right hour,The noontime friend—no! Do not ask who it is—It was at noon that one became two…
Now, sure of our united victory, we celebrateThe feast of feasts:Friend Zarathustra came, the guest of guests!Now the world laughs, the dreadful curtain tore,The wedding of light and darkness has come…
About this section
From High Mountains. Aftersong is part of Beyond Good and Evil by Friedrich Nietzsche. This page sets the German original beside 2 direct-source translations, so any line can be checked against the source. It is part 11 of 11 in the work, which is kept in the European tradition.
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