189. Verses on 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.

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