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.