The Poem

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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.
[Note]
[Contents 1803]
[Main Contents]
[1]

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[Variant 1:]

1807
Now as I live, I pity that great Lord,
Whom pure despite ...
MS. letter to Sir Walter Scott. Oct. 1803.
Ill wishes shall attend the unworthy Lord MS.

Now as I live, I pity that great Lord,
Whom pure despite ...

Ill wishes shall attend the unworthy Lord

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