What gives such a high value to these songs, and indeed to all the poetry of Scheffel, is the fact that they, in depicting the joyous vein in human nature, set forth a faithful abstract, a true poetical substratum, of the popular life and thought of South-Western Germany. If any one should fail to comprehend the spirit of Scheffel's poetry let him go to the 'joyful Palatinate,' and to its ancient capital, Heidelberg. There he will find the frank, merry, and humorous characters of Scheffel's poems, and especially the prototypes of that thirsty soul, the Rodensteiner who pawned his three villages during the revelries 'Zu Heidelberg im Hirschen,' and finally bequeathed his thirst to the students. And looking from the ruins of the castle over the beautiful valleys of the Neckar and the Rhine, he will perhaps understand the enthusiasm which our poet has for this blessed spot, in singing: Und stechen mich die Dornen, Und wird mir's draus zu kahl; Geb' ich dem Pferd die Spornen, Und reit' in's Neckarthal. GRANITE. In unterirdischer Kammer Sprach grollend der alte Granit: 'Da droben den wäss'rigen Jammer Den mach' ich jetzt länger nicht mit.' In his lair subterranean, grumbling Old Granite said: 'One thing is sure, That slopping and slippery tumbling Up yonder, no more I'll endure. So wearily wallows the water His billows of brine o'er the land, 'Stead of prouder and fairer and better All is turning to slime and to sand. 'That would be a nice limestony cover, A sweet geological swash, If the coat of the wide world all over Were one sedimentary wash. By and by 'twill be myth and no true thing What were hills--what was high or was low. The deuce take their drifting and smoothing; Hurrah! far eruption I go!' So he spoke, and to aid him, pro rata, The brave-hearted Porphyry flew, The weak-hearted crystalline strata He scornfully shattered in two. With flashing and crashing and bellow, As though the world's end were to dread, Even Graywack, that decent old fellow, In terror stood up on his head. Also Stonecoal and Limestone and Trias Fast vanished, internally mined. Loud wailed in the Jura, the Lias, That the wild fire had scorched him behind. And Limestone, the marl-plot of chalkers, Said later, in deep earnest chimes, 'Was there no one, to stop, 'mong you talkers, This wild revolution betimes?' But upwards through strata and fountains Passed the conquering hero with heat, Until from the sunniest mountains He gazed on the world at his feet. Then he shouted with yodling and singing, 'Hurrah! 'Twas courageously done, Even we can be doing and bringing What it only needs pluck to be won.'