THISTLE. 
191 
I’ve thought, thou lonely cypress-tree, thou hermit of 
the grove, 
How many a heart, alas ! is doomed forlorn on earth 
to rove ; 
When all that charmed the morn of life, and cheered 
the youthful mind, 
Have like the sunbeams passed away, and left but 
clouds behind ! 
Thou wert a token unto me, thou stem with dreary leaf, 
So desolate thou look'st, as oarth were but a home of 
grief! 
A few short years shall swiftly glide, and then thy 
boughs shall wave, 
When tempests beat and breezes sigh, above my silent 
grave ! 
THISTLE. 
{Independence .) 
“ The thistle shall bloom on the bed of the brave.”— Anon. 
A S the national emblem of Scotland the Thistle has 
been celebrated, far-and wide, by the many bards 
of its brave people. There is some little doubt as to 
how this flower was first adopted by the Scots. Some 
patriotic authors go back to the days of the Piets in 
order to trace the origin of its use, and adduce a roman¬ 
tic legend in proof of the antiquity of the custom. Be 
this as it may, the Plantagenets were not prouder of 
