Streams that glide in orient plains,Never bound by Winter’s chains;Glowing here on golden sands,There immix’d with foulest stainsFrom Tyranny’s empurpled hands;These, their richly gleaming waves,I leave to tyrants and their slaves;Give me the stream that sweetly lavesThe banks by Castle Gordon.9
Spicy forests, ever gray,Shading from the burning rayHapless 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 braveThe storms by Castle Gordon.18
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 raveAnd find at night a sheltering cave,Where waters flow and wild woods wave,By bonie Castle Gordon.27