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.