Degenerate Douglas! oh, the unworthy Lord...

Degenerate Douglas! oh, the unworthy Lord!

Whom mere despite of heart could so far please,

And love of havoc, ( for with such disease

Fame taxes him,) that he could send forth word

To level with the dust a noble horde,

A brotherhood of venerable Trees,

Leaving an ancient dome, and towers like these,

Beggared and outraged!— Many hearts deplored

The fate of those old Trees; and oft with pain

The traveller, at this day, will stop and gaze

On wrongs, which Nature scarcely seems to heed:

For sheltered places, bosoms, nooks, and bays,

And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed,

And the green silent pastures, yet remain.