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,