The Basalt

Mag der basaltene Mohrenstein         Zum Schreck es erzhlen im Lande,         Wie er gebrodelt in Flammenschein         Und geschwrzt 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 jngerer Sohn         Aus altvulcanischem Hause,         Er lebte lang verkannt und gedrckt         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 Baslt         For his crushed love ever is weeping. Translated From The German Of Joseph Victor Scheffel By Charles G. Leland.