“Far remote, in the wide sea, named Archipelago, there lies an island well known through all the world, blooming and golden with rich harvests of corn, fruits, and wine. There, in old days of paganism, was born the enchanter, whom the heathens afterwards looked upon as a god. The island is called Crete, and the mighty enchanter’s name is Zeus. “By his powerful spells it came to pass, that this island, whence he derived his birth, was ever adorned with the choicest flowers; and it is not very long since there was planted thereon a red rose of such unequalled beauty, that it was praised and renowned far and near as the richest and rarest of all nature’s blossoms. This flower came from the town of Damascus, and it was watched and tended by a fair and lovely damsel, who had been forced away from that city by wicked men, and brought to the enchanter’s island. At Damascus she had been in her flower-garden, and had the rose in her hand, when the wicked pirate came to disturb her innocent pleasures. She hid the plant under her mantle, and carried it with her into Crete. Here it had thriven well beneath her tender care,--the Damascene rose blooming the fairest of flowers, and she the fairest of damsels on the island. “Oftentimes she had whispered in secret to the flower,--‘Here we are, both strangers in the land; therefore we must be friends to each other, and the bonds of affection may never be broken between us. If one return home, the other too must go thither; and if the rose be cropped from the stalk, the maiden will wither in her sadness.’--Then it seemed almost as if the flower had understood her words, and nodded thereto in silent sympathy.