30 The Rose Garden. 



Say from whence the Rose divine 

 Bids th' unrivalled lustre shine ? 

 From the liquid caves of night 

 When Cytherea waked to light 

 Waked from her Neptunian birth, 

 To fill with love the circling earth : 

 From the forehead of her sire, 

 When Pallas sprang with martial fire, 

 Nature gave the Queen of Flowers, 

 Coeval sister of the Powers. 



When th' immortals' frolic souls 

 Glow'd with Nectar's copious bowls, 

 By chance, upon a blooming thorn, 

 Such as the heavenly seats adorn, 

 Prolific fell the ethereal dew ; 

 Consecrated Roses grew. 

 The topers hail'd the plant divine, 

 And gave it "To the God of Wine ! " 



Anacreon, Ode 53. Translated by Green. 



Other Greek writers attribute to the Rose a different origin. Bion, in his Epitaph 

 on the death of Adonis, tells us it arose from the blood of this lovely youth, who was 

 destroyed by a wild boar : 



Thus Venus mourned, and tears incessant shed, 



And all the loves bewailed Adonis dead ; 



Sighing, they cried, "Ah ! wretched queen, deplore 



Thy joys all fled, Adonis is no more." 



As many drops of blood as from the wound 



Of fair Adonis trickled on the ground, 



So many tears she shed in copious showers ; 



Both tears and drops of blood were turned to flowers, 



From these in crimson beauty sprung the Rose, 



Ccerulean-bright Anemones from those. 



Bion. Translated by F. Fawkes. 



Others, again, of the ancient writers, granting the existence of the White Rose 

 say that the colour was merely changed from white to red by being stained with 

 the blood of Venus, whose feet were lacerated by its thorns in her endeavour to 

 save Adonis. Our own Spenser makes a beautiful allusion to this fancy in the 



Daphnaida : 



White as the native Rose before the change 

 Which Venus' blood did on her leaves impress. 



Among the Romans, Cicero, Lucretius, Virgil, Horace, Ovid, and Martial, introduce 

 the Rose into their writings, the last-named author addressing one of his Epigrams 

 " To Domitian on his Winter Roses ": 



Some winter Roses, Csesar, rarest flowers, 



The Nile had sent you, thankful for your care. 

 But when th' Egyptian sailor saw your bowers, 



He could but scorn the present which he bare. 

 So rich the fragrance your own Psestum showers, 



So bright Italia's spring her blooms so fair. 



