33room. 179 
'BRooyi....HnmiUit/. 
Thomas Miller thus speaks of the " bonny Broom," 
in his Romance of Nature: — 
Beautiful art thou, Broom ! waving in all thy rich 
array of green and gold, on the breezy bosom uf the 
bee-haunted heath. The sleeping sunshine, and the 
silver-footed showers, the clouds that for ever play 
about the face of Heaven, the homeless winds, and the 
crystal-globed dews, that settle upon thy blossoms like 
sleep on the veined eyelids of an infant, are ever beat- 
ing above and around thee, as if to tell that they rejoice 
in thy companionship, and that, although a thousand 
years have strided by with silent steps, time hath not 
abated an atom of their love. Who can tell the thoughts 
of Saxon Alfred when, wandering alone, crownless and 
sceptreless, he stretched himself on the lonely moor 
beneath the shadow of thy golden blossoms, sighing 
for the fair queen he had left for behind ? When he 
bowed his kingly head, and, musing on thy beauty, 
buried in a solitary wild, thought how even regal dig- 
nity would be enhanced by humility, and that, although 
thou didst grow there unmarked and unpruned, not a 
more princely flower waved in his own English garden. 
Humility, that low, sweet root. 
From which all heavenly virtues shoot. 
Moore. 
