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.