Mag der basaltene Mohrenstein Zum Schreck es erzählen im Lande, Wie er gebrodelt in Flammenschein Und geschwärzt entstiegen dem Brande: Brenn's drunten noch Jahr aus Jahr ein Beim Wein soll uns nicht bange sein, Nein, nein! Soll uns nicht bange sein! F. v. Kobell. Urzeit der Erde, p. 33. Es war der Basalt ein jüngerer Sohn Aus altvulcanischem Hause, Er lebte lang verkannt und gedrückt In erdtief verborgener Clause. Sir basalt was a younger son Of that oldest race, the Vulcanian, And he lived for ages oppressed and unknown In a cavern deep subterranean. So they goaded and jeered the lover forlorn,-- 'Art thou yearning for rainy weather? You will get but a mitten, and the scorn Of all the formations together. 'Uncle Rocksalt said to the Lime and smiled, And the billows sneer it higher, "How can the Ocean's third-born child Be a bride to this scum of Fire?"' What happened next was never known; But at once into madness crashing, In a fiery blaze he was upwards thrown, His wild veins glaring and flashing. Loud raving he sprang to the air in haste, And scorching all, fast hurried; Bursting the strata's mountain waste Beneath which he long was buried. And she whom he once had worshipped, broke, And was crushed as a mere obstruction; He laughed in scorn, and whirling in smoke, Stormed on to fresh destruction. And blow on blow--a terrible roar Of thousands of storms wild crashing; The earth burst open and trembled all o'er. With a shaking and breaking and dashing. Till in majesty the fiery flood Flew up from the rifts in fountains, And scattered with ruins land and flood Bowed down to the columned mountains. There he stood and gazed on the blue air free, And the sun with its sweet attraction, Then heavily sighed--it blew cool from the sea-- And he sank in petrifaction. Yet still in the rock may be heard in rhyme A wondrous tuning and ringing, As though he would from his youthful time A song of love be singing. And a gold yellow drop of natrolite From the dark stone oft comes peeping; Those are the tears which Sir Basált For his crushed love ever is weeping. THE BOULDER. Einst ziert' ich, den Aether durchspähend, Als Spitze des Urgebirg's Stock, Ruhm, Hoheit und Stellung verschmähend, Ward ich zum erratischen Block. Once high on the mountain-peak rising, In sunlight I shone like a flame; But height and position despising, A wandering boulder became. They say of a thinker's bold sallies, He goes where the ice will not bear; I was beckoned to false hollow valleys, By snow maids, seductive and fair.