IX

Does the first softening of the season break The winter of Glenogle? Do the sighs Of wooing spring bid curling brackens rise On hillsides out of nothing for love’s sake? How sweet it is to think that harebells shake Over Green Lowther, where the shadow lies Far in the Enterkin, beneath blue skies; In trance to see the catkined willows quake, Where April stirs along Loch Lomond side; To watch the sands of Morar gently take The Atlantic swell that softly combs the Isles; And through the gorgeous portals of the Clyde To hear at dawn the thudding paddle wake The ever-brooding silence of the Kyles.