THE ROSE.

    For here the rose expands
    Her paradise of leaves.

Southey.

The ROSE, (Rosa) the Queen of Flowers, was given by Cupid to Harpocrates, the God of Silence, as a bribe, to prevent him from betraying the amours of Venus.  A rose suspended from the ceiling intimates that all is strictly confidential that passes under it.  Hence the phrase—­under the Rose[075].

The rose was raised by Flora from the remains of a favorite nymph.  Venus and the Graces assisted in the transformation of the nymph into a flower.  Bacchus supplied streams of nectar to its root, and Vertumnus showered his choicest perfumes on its head.

The loves of the Nightingale and the Rose have been celebrated by the Muses of many lands.  An Eastern poet says “You may place a hundred handfuls of fragrant herbs and flowers before the Nightingale; yet he wishes not, in his constant heart, for more than the sweet breath of his beloved Rose.”

The Turks say that the rose owes its origin to a drop of perspiration that fell from the person of their prophet Mahommed.

The classical legend runs that the rose was at first of a pure white, but a rose-thorn piercing the foot of Venus when she was hastening to protect Adonis from the rage of Mars, her blood dyed the flower.  Spenser alludes to this legend: 

    White as the native rose, before the change
    Which Venus’ blood did on her leaves impress.

Spenser.

Milton says that in Paradise were,

    Flowers of all hue, and without thorns the rose.

According to Zoroaster there was no thorn on the rose until Ahriman (the
Evil One) entered the world.

Here is Dr. Hooker’s account of the origin of the red rose.

    To sinless Eve’s admiring sight
    The rose expanded snowy white,
    When in the ecstacy of bliss
    She gave the modest flower a kiss,
    And instantaneous, lo! it drew
    From her red lip its blushing hue;
    While from her breath it sweetness found,
    And spread new fragrance all around.

This reminds me of a passage in Mrs. Barrett Browning’s Drama of Exile in which she makes Eve say—­

                —­For was I not
    At that last sunset seen in Paradise,
    When all the westering clouds flashed out in throngs
    Of sudden angel-faces, face by face,
    All hushed and solemn, as a thought of God
    Held them suspended,—­was I not, that hour
    The lady of the world, princess of life,
    Mistress of feast and favour? Could I touch
    A Rose with my white hand, but it became
    Redder at once?

Another poet. (Mr. C. Cooke) tells us that a species of red rose with all her blushing honors full upon her, taking pity on a very pale maiden, changed complexions with the invalid and became herself as white as snow.