castle gordon
streams that glide in orient plains,
never bound by winter's chains;
glowing here on golden sands,
there immix'd with foulest stains
from tyranny's empurpled hands;
these, their richly gleaming waves,
i leave to tyrants and their slaves;
give me the stream that sweetly laves
the banks by castle gordon.
spicy forests, ever gray,
shading from the burning ray
hapless wretches sold to toil;
or the ruthless native's way,
bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil:
woods that ever verdant wave,
i leave the tyrant and the slave;
give me the groves that lofty brave
the storms by castle gordon.
wildly here, without control,
nature reigns and rules the whole;
in that sober pensive mood,
dearest to the feeling soul,
she plants the forest, pours the flood:
life's poor day i'll musing rave
and find at night a sheltering cave,
where waters flow and wild woods wave,
by bonie castle gordon.