| |
| 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; | 5 |
| 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, | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| 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; | 20 |
| 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, | 25 |
| Where waters flow and wild woods wave, | |
| By bonie Castle Gordon. | |
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