text: [9] Alas! thy solitary hawthorn-tree Four-centuried and o'erthrown is but of thee A type majestic ruin: there it lies And annually puts on its May-flower bloom To fill thy lonely courts with bland perfume Yet lifts no more its green head to the skies;[10] The last lone living thing around that knew Thy glory when the dizziness and din Of thronging life o'erflow'd thy halls within And o'er thy top St Andrew's banner flew