O Lethington! thy woodlands are sublime, Where everlasting trees their green arms wave, Like giant-shadows beautified by time, Shaking their shaggy locks when tempests rave; Here walk’d the politician plotting grave;[19] Here sighs from icy bosoms beauty wrung; Here, young Argyle—the generous and the brave— First woke to eloquence his artless tongue, Where beauteous Lennox smiled, and old Sir Richard sung.