A legend of this gloomy wild mountain, at the base of which one drives from Clausthal to St. Andreasburg, lingers still with a poetic charm on and around its rocky walls, and is in harmony with its decorations.
In the grey primeval days dwelt in this savage wilderness a mighty hunter, hard and rough as the rocks on which his house stood.
Hunting was his pleasure and passion, and daily he ranged, with his men, the wood, which resounded with the barking of dogs and the notes of the horn, which filled the clefts and caves of the rocks and mountains with a thousand-voiced echo.
Not even the peace of the Sabbath could check the delight of the huntsman in the chase, or restrain him from his continued persecution of the animals of the woods.
A pious hermit admonished him frequently, and entreated him not to disturb God's peace of the holy day with his tumult and noise; but the sportsman closed his ears to the warnings of the old man, and the hermit returned to his hermitage accompanied by the scornful derision of the ungodly hunter.
The evening of an October Sunday fell softly over the mountains; the tops of the fir-trees, rocks, and mountains were bathed in the golden splendour of sunset; on the whole scene lay deep silence, only the waves of the Oder murmured in the distance their eternal song; only the timid game left its secure hiding-place, stole cautiously with light, slow steps out of the thickets, and sought the spicy plants or the cooling spring.
Then resounded suddenly the noise of the hunt in the distance; the game so peacefully refreshing itself fled in terror, and the tumult increased every instant.
A snow-white stag flew with the rapidity of the wind over the mountains, pursued by the hunters on foot and on horseback, and surrounded by the barking pack of hounds.
The ground thundered beneath the horse-hoofs, and the mountains rang with the wild "hallohs!" of the riders, the cracking of whips, and the clashing of weapons.
The hunted stag groaned, and escaped his pursuers with his last strength.