Streams That Glide In Orient Plains.

Tune - "Morag." I.         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. II.         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. III.         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 bonnie Castle-Gordon.