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　　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. Poems and Songs of Robert Burns