FLOWERS OF THOUGHT. 
97 
wings.” Plunging again fearlessly downward in a 
moment, bidding unfathomable seas open, and fiery 
volcanos bare their nethermost depths, while, with 
fearless eye, it surveys those vast realms where the fal¬ 
len angels writhe in the sweat of their great agony, 
amid thunder and darkness, in that fathomless and 
shoreless ocean of molten flames. Mysterious flower ! 
we know not at what hallowed font thou wert first 
named,—whether thou wert christened in smiles or 
tears,—or amid the maimed rites of some heart-break¬ 
ing ceremony, wert first named the everlasting flower 
of undying thought. 
The White Rose has long been considered as 
sa-cred to Silence: over whatever company it was 
suspended, no secrets were ever revealed, for it hung 
only above the festal board of sworn friendship. No 
matter how deep they might drink, or how long the 
wine-cup might circulate round the table, so long as 
the White Rose hung over their heads, every secret 
was considered inviolable; no matter how trivial, or 
how important the trust, beneath that flower it was 
