sands of brazen serpent
lamps, or far in dusky fragrant forests, they adored the Rose Queen--the
very visible spirit and incarnation of nature in her loveliest form.
Over many a shining sea passed the barks, rose-wreathed, to the far
isles of the South: she--the Rose--was there! From many a steep crag
looked out on the blue ocean the temple of the Star Queen, the Heaven
and Sea-born sister of the Rose: and she was there. Through beautiful
temples the lover strayed to meet his love, and, taking the rose from
her brow, won her in worship of the Serpent-light of Loveliness: for
she, the Rose--the Mystery of all Rapture--was ever there! On coin and
jewel, in prayer and song they bore the Rose-Venus to every land in a
living, ever-thrilling romaunt--far goldener, more thrilling with poetry
than was in later times the dull lay of De Loris and Clopinel: for
wherever man found joy and beauty in life, feast, and song, she--the
Rose Incarnate--was there. In the Rose was the twin sister of all the
mysteries: we may read them as clearly in her, if we will, as ever did
rapt Sidonian, or priest, or daughter of the Aryan, or whatever the
early unknown burning race may have been, which built fire-towers in
melting Lesbos, and names Cor-on, the crowned Corinthos, ere yet a
syllable of Greek had ever rung on earth. She is the Cup; her calyx and
dew reflect the goblet of life, and the nectar-wine of life, typical in
early times of endless generation, in later days of _re_-generation.
Born of the sea, she recalls the Cor-olla Cup-Ark in which
Hercules--Arech El Es--crossed the sea between the rosy dawn and ruddy
sundown, 'strength upborne by love and life.' She is the Morning Star
which hovered over Aphrodite when the Queen rose from the sea, since
each was either in that Trinity; as in later days the star shone on him
who rose from Maria the sea, accompanied by _Iona_, the dove. She is the
Shell and the Ark of so many ancient legends--that Ark into which life
enters, and from which it is born--the Ark of Earth, in which Adon and
the flowers sleep till Spring--the Ark of maternal Being, from which man
is born--the exquisite and beautiful Rose. She is the Door or Gate of
the Transition or Passing Through from death to life: wherever man
enters, _there_ is the Rose, and with her all the twin-symbols;--and
when, bearing a rose, you chance to pass through some antique rock-gap,
far inland, near a running stream, start not, reader, should a stran