Chapter II

A lonely rock juts upward
Just by the craggy strand;
The angry foaming waters
Have torn it from the land.

Now in green waves half sunken
Defiantly it lies;
The snow-white gulls are flying
Around it with shrill cries.

There on the heaving billows
Is dancing a light boat;
The sounds of plaintive singing
Up to the lone rock float:

"O that I to my country,
And to my love were borne;
O home in dear old Rhine-land,
For thee my heart is torn!"