The dark, tip-tilted rocks of cruel mood, Show a stern beauty through the creamy foam That flecks their rugged flanks. See, from this hill-top, how the blazing Sound Is marked by moving shadows of the clouds That skim aloft in air. Through the clear radiance of the freshened morn, The eye can see the far farm-windows gleam Up on the Arran hills. IX. SPRINGTIME IN PERTHSHIRE. Returning Springtime fills the woods with song-- The ring-dove, sick for love, is cooing sweet; The lark, scorning the daisies, soars to greet The sun, while the brown swarms of bees among The flowery meadows skim in haste along. Once more the young year glories in the feat Of driving winter off with vernal heat And tepid sap luxuriantly strong. Winter has drawn aloof his snowy powers To the high peaks that domineer the plain, And, like a vanquished leader, grimly lowers, From a safe distance, on the victor's reign. E'er many months have passed, his arrowy showers And gusty cohorts will descend again. X. DR. GEORGE MACDONALD'S CREED[35] (WRITTEN AT CULLEN). God will not suffer that a single one Of His own creatures, in His image made, Should die, and in irrevocable shade Lie evermore--neglected and undone. It is not thus a father treats his son, And those whose folly credits it, degrade God's love and fatherhood, that never fade, By lies as base as devils ever spun. Man's love is but a pale reflex of God's, And God _is_ love, and never will condemn Beyond remission--though He school with rods-- His children, but will one day comfort them. Dives will have his drink at last, and stand Among the faithful ones at God's right hand. [35] Reprinted (by kind permission) from the _Scotsman_. XI. ABBOTSFORD. "Dryden and Scott, men of a giant seed!" So said I to myself, gazing upon The pictured countenance of Glorious John, In Abbotsford, hard by the storied Tweed. These twain were brothers, kin in mind and deed: Old England never had a brawnier son Than Dryden; and in fervid Scotland none Better than Scott exemplified the breed. After five centuries of blood and hate, Britain is one leal land from north to south, From gusty Thurso to St. Michael's Mount, I therefore, Scot and Briton, am elate To think that from Sir Walter's golden mouth Dryden's career received the fit account. XII. CARLYLE (AT ECCLEFECHAN).