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,