When Zarathustra was thirty years old, he left his home and the lake of his home, and went into the mountains.
There he enjoyed his spirit and solitude, and for ten years did not weary of it.
But at last his heart changed,--and rising one morning with the rosy dawn, he went before the sun, and spoke thus to it:
You great star!
What would be your happiness if you had not those for whom you shine!
For ten years have you climbed here to my cave:
you would have wearied of your light and of the journey, had it not been for me, mine eagle, and my serpent.
But we awaited you every morning, took from you your overflow and blessed you for it.
Lo!I am weary of my wisdom, like the bee that has gathered too much honey;
I need hands outstretched to take it.
I would fain bestow and distribute, until the wise have once more become joyous in their folly, and the poor happy in their riches.
Therefore must I descend into the deep:
as you do in the evening, when you goes behind the sea, and gives light also to the nether-world, you exuberant star!
Like you must I GO DOWN, as men say, to whom I shall descend.
Bless me, then, you tranquil eye, that can behold even the greatest happiness without envy!
Bless the cup that is about to overflow, that the water may flow golden out of it, and carry everywhere the reflection of your bliss!
Lo! This cup is again going to empty itself, and Zarathustra is again going to be a man.
Thus began Zarathustra's down-going.