Arakoon

LO! in storms, the triple-headed     Hill, whose dreaded     Bases battle with the seas,     Looms across fierce widths of fleeting     Waters beating     Evermore on roaring leas!     Arakoon, the black, the lonely!     Housed with only     Cloud and rain-wind, mist and damp;     Round whose foam-drenched feet and nether     Depths, together     Sullen sprites of thunder tramp!     There the East hums loud and surly,     Late and early,     Through the chasms and the caves,     And across the naked verges     Leap the surges!     White and wailing waifs of waves.     Day by day the sea-fogs gathered     Tempest-fathered     Pitch their tents on yonder peak,     Yellow drifts and fragments lying     Where the flying     Torrents chafe the cloven creek!     And at nightfall, when the driven     Bolts of heaven     Smite the rock and break the bluff,     Thither troop the elves whose home is     Where the foam is,     And the echo and the clough.     Ever girt about with noises,     Stormy voices,     And the salt breath of the Strait,     Stands the steadfast Mountain Giant,     Grim, reliant,     Dark as Death, and firm as Fate.     So when trouble treads, like thunder,     Weak men under     Treads and breaks the thews of these     Set thyself to bear it bravely,     Greatly, gravely,     Like the hill in yonder seas;     Since the wrestling and endurance     Give assurance     To the faint at bay with pain,     That no soul to strong endeavour     Yoked for ever,     Works against the tide in vain.