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STREAMS that glide in orient plains,
Never bound by winter's chains;
Glowing here on golden sands,
There commix'd with foulest stains

From tyranny's empurpled bands;
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 gay,

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:

The young Highland Rover.

Life's poor day I'll musing rave,

And find at night a sheltering cave,

Where waters flow and wild woods wave,
By bonnie Castle-Gordon.




LOUD blaw the frosty breezes,

The snaws the mountains cover,

Like winter on me seizes,

Since my young Highland Rover Far wanders nations over. Where'er he go, where'er he stray, May Heaven be his warden, Return him safe to fair Strathspey, An' bonnie Castle-Gordon !

The trees, now naked groaning,
Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging,

The birdies, dowie moaning,
Shall a' be blithely singing,
An' every flower be springing.
Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day,
When, by his mighty warden,
My youth's return'd to fair Strathspey,
An' bonnie Castle-Gordon.


TUNE-"The Caledonian Hunt's delight."

THERE was once a day-but old Time then was


That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line, From some of your northern deities sprung, (Who knows not that brave Caledonia's divine ?) From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain, To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would: Her heavenly relations there fixed her reign, And pledg'd her their godheads to warrant it good.

A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war,

The pride of her kindred the heroine grew: Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore, "Whoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter shall rue!"

With tillage or pasture at times she would sport,
To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn;
But chiefly the woods were her fav'rite resort,

Her darling amusement the hounds and the horn.

Long quiet she reign'd; till thitherward steers
A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand :*
Repeated, successive, for many long years,

They darken'd the air and they plunder'd the land;

*The Romans.


Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world beside; She took to her hills, and her arrows let flyThe daring invaders they fled or they died.


The fell harpy-raven took wing from the north, The scourge of the seas and the dread of the shore ;*

The wild Scandinavian boar issued forth

To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore:† O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail'd, No arts could appease them, no arms could repel; But brave Caledonia in vain they assail'd,

As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell.+

The Cameleon-savage disturb'd her repose,
With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife;
Provok'd beyond bearing, at last she arose,

And robb'd him at once of his hopes and hi slife ;§ The Anglian lion, the terror of France,

Oft prowling, ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood; But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance,

He learned to fear in his own native wood.

Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, and free,
Her bright course of glory for ever shall run:

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The two famous battles in which the Danes or Norwegians were defeated.

§ The Highlanders of the Isles.


For brave Caledonia immortal must be;

I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun: Rectangle-triangle the figure we'll choose

The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base; But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse;

Then ergo, she 'll match them, and match them always.*

TUNE-" Druimion Dubh."

["I composed these verses out of compliment to a Mrs. MacLachlan, whose husband is an officer in the East Indies.”—Burns.]

MUSING on the roaring ocean

Which divides my love and me;
Wearying heaven in warm devotion
For his weal, where'er he be.

Hope and fear's alternate billow
Yielding late to nature's law,
Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow
Talk of him that's far awa'.

Ye whom sorrow never wounded,
Ye who never shed a tear,

* This singular figure of poetry refers to the famous proposition of Pythagoras, the 47th of Euclid. In a right-angled triangle the square of the hypothenuse is always equal to the squares of the two other sides.

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