Yet what hearts are estrang'd and what bright hopes are fled,
And friends I erst dwelt with now sleep with the dead,
Since in childhood I gazed on thee last!
Thine image still rests on the clear stream beneath,
And flow'rs as of yore, thy old battlement wreathe,
Like rare friends by adversity's side;
Still clinging aloft, the wild tree I behold
That marks in derision, the spot, where of old
The standard once floated in pride.
But the conqueror, Time, hath thy banner o'erthrown,