110 THE LANGUAGE OF FLO WERS. 
Tree of Life. Old Age. 
Thus may I calmly meet my end, 
Thus to the grave in peace descend.— Blackstone. 
Trefoil . Revenge. 
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.— Milton. 
Tremella Nestoc . Resistance. 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn.— 
Campbell. 
Trillium Pictum. Modest beauty. 
Oh ! could you view the melody of every grace, 
And music of her face. 
You’d drop a tear.— Lovelace. 
P'rufUe ••• ••• ••• ••• ••• ••• Stty^mse. 
Round large eyes, 
Ever great with new surprise.— W. C. Bennett. 
Trumpet Flower . Fame. 
What avails it to record a name. 
That courts no rank among the sons of fame?— Falconer. 
Tuberose . Dangerous pleasures. 
Let them not suck 
The sweet that is their poison.— Shakespeare. 
T^ulip ••• ••• ••• ••• ... ... ••• ,,, Fame. 
Fame is swiftest still when she goes laden 
With news of mischief.— May. 
But hark! the trump ! to-morrow thou 
In glory's fires shalt dry thy tears.— Campbell. 
Tulip, Red . Declaration of love. 
Oh, happy, happy now to die. 
And go before thee to the sky.— Mackay. 
