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 Here Avon pours, who his long current leads
Through old Strathaven, famed for generous steeds:
Through pastures, fields, and towns he rolls along; 690
The soil is fruitful, and the swains are strong.
But on yon eminence, exalted high,
Proud Chattelherault's tall turrets strike the sky,
Mid artificial lawns extending, green,
While gay parterres enamelled spread between;
Fenced with broad waving woods of varied hue;
A sweet retreat, with all the world in view.
So Paradise, with faultless beauty crowned,
On mountains rose, which shook with woods around.
Here, deep-ingulphed in rocks, fair Avon flows, 700
While lines of crystal wander down their brows;
Where sportive nature all the forms has shown
Of vegetation in a growing stone;
Nor by the sages can it be defined,
Or plant, or stone, where both so well are joined.
 In billowy surges waves the rising grain,
Where graceful Hamilton adorns the plain.
In ancient pomp, above the subject lands,
The palaced hall her winged courts expands;
The lofty walls with polished marble vie, 710
And stately columns heave the roof on high;