ASCENT OF BEN MORE, ISLE OF MULL SEEKING to trespass
in their marriage chamber, With profane tread scaling the ancient throne Of mountain's and of sky's immense communion,
Surprising vapours intimate with basalt,
Cloud-fringes writhing down black prows, that wound Their aching ridges deep in rainy velvet—
But there, upstarting from the nebulous silence, Fear moved. Below the rock-spire, hurtling scree And ragged cloud averse to the dwarf intruder.
Then leave the unknown to the hungry falcon, Red deer may rove there, and the ptarmigan prey. I and my race—these have not loved the strangers.
Gone to the earth, less than a summer's memory, My race and I—while still the drooping cloud Makes nuptials with the hills, the unforgetful.
They saw the shadow alone on the thundering headland; Tomorrow, only the plunge of the toppled wave And almond islands, awash in the grey Atlantic.
BERNARD MAYO,
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