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.