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The Human Inheritance

The New Hope, Motherhood. By William Sharp
  
  

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BEN-A-CHAOLAIS
  
  
  
  
  


177

BEN-A-CHAOLAIS

(The Mountain of Sounds).

The wild Atlantic blasts whirl day and night
Their rheum upon it, and the mountain stands
Frowning immoveably, as a giant with bands
Chained to the ground beholds the insulting light.
Hark! are they sea-mews in their wailing flight
These dismal echoes moaning o'er the sands?
Or swell the cries from weird unearthly lands
Borne hence upon the wild wind's wings of might?
Thou art the image of a human soul,
O lonely hill, fronting the blasts of fate—
Like thee for ever haunted by wild cries
From secret depths, and heedless of the roll
Of whirling seas with deathful strength elate,
Or the long desolate darkness of the skies.
 

One of the Paps of Jura overlooking the Atlantic. It is honeycombed in its seaward front with hollow narrow caverns running often far inland, where strange currents of air and echoing tidal billows are ever moving: hence, both in calm and tempest, strange wailing sounds seem to issue from its depths.