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.