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Page 1 of 41913 · PDF PAGE 179
ROSA IGNOTA In the gold of a faded summer sun Burnished and dull, in clouds of dun And brilliant amber. Soft! Let be The tender dream! Stay here with me! So, to this dream, this dream, I give Again the pulsing life I live: The faded sunset thrills the sweet Core of my soul ;—ah! nimble feet Grown old! Oh! autumn woodlands fraught With pensiveness of waking thought! The gray night gathers, soft and cold, The old dead dreams, dead dreams of old,— The cold, gray, windy breath of time, The old dead loves, the unsung rime : Autumn, the pale, gray, c…
1913 · PDF PAGE 573
THE KEY OF THE MYSTERIES that is little more than the prolongation of old age, and one has the right to ask from the science which we profess other privileges and other secrets. To be a long time young, or even to become young again, that is what would appear desirable and precious to the majority of men. Is it possible? We shall examine the question. The famous Count of Saint-Germain is dead, we do not doubt, but no one ever saw him grow old. He appeared always of the age of forty years, and at the time of his greatest celebrity, he pretended …
1913 · PDF PAGE 228
…e Stared at the flames that made the ceiling gray With wavering shadows, sporting eerily, We lay all naked, talking of the things Of the old dim world, when life and art were young; Of the old bards who lightly touched their strings ; Who sang of love and life as I have sung. And then I felt you kiss me as I roved Back to the brightness of the world of old; And so the past grew dearer, as I loved And loved you more: the path grew ever gold, Merging at last into the golden light Of the Golden Age : we were re-born that night. (vir) More sombrely…
1913 · PDF PAGE 234
…e, Turned into song by love’s strange alchemy. Wherefore I sing of things long past and dead; Wherefore I murmur foolishly in sleep; The old, old pain still throbbing through my head In dreams of desert valleys, mountains steep, With winding paths ; hot suns and scorching plains. There is a fire unquenched within my brains. Because I sing in unknown cadences, Because I strive so hotly to recall Some murmur I have heard on sunken seas, Some vision I have seen beyond the wall, Now sombrely I await the secret rime, Known of the poet—and the Ghost …
1913 · PDF PAGE 20
…lled abroad on commercial business and travelled extensively in America, the West Indies and Cuba. Before he left England he revived the old York degrees of Heredom-Kadosh, formerly worked under the Duke of Sussex, being helped in this important work by old members who had been admitted in 1823 and 1833. In 1869 he was admitted into L’Ordre du Temple, the continuation of the Knights Templars in Paris. This body claims an uninterrupted succession of Grand Masters from the time of Jacques de Molay, who, it is said, invested as Grand Master Marc L…
1913 · PDF PAGE 198
THE EQUINOX The old brown mellow houses grow mellower in the nightfall ; A ccharméd air is about them of the keen old days that are dead. Oh, hushed is the song of the morning, hushed in the tremu- lous light-fall, For the light is fading slowly now, and all the legends are said, And all the glamour is fled. Here in the soft grey twilight the mournful evening lingers Upon the road to dream and sleep and all the things that are past ; Here in the shadowy night-fall, with slow reluctant fingers, The poet touches the silent strings, and falls into…
1913 · PDF PAGE 107
…e fierce flood swallows up the plains. The voice from below. Father, O father Nu! O father Nu! What miracle is this—tremendous-true? The old ship is grown new! The voice from the shrine. How should a ship grow old Whose virgin timbers hold Mine awful ark of gold? zuLu. Do I hear one speak of ships? CHINESE. Listen, my lord, to these, no lying lips. ARAB. Take us aboard; we sail where hunger grips No more three poor blind beggar men. nu [Aside]. May be These are the assassin three! [Aloud] Have ye the tokens of the true degree? [They cower. cHIN…
1913 · PDF PAGE 443
…ciple of the ecstatic Eugéne Vintras? And that your name is Charvoz?” It was a veritable thunderbolt; at each of these three phrases the old priest jumped in his chair. When he heard his name, he turned pale, and rose as if a spring had been released. “You are then really a magician ?” he cried; ‘“‘ Charvoz is certainly my name, but it is not that which I bear; I call myself La Paraz.” “T know it; La Paraz is the name of your mother. You have left a sufficiently enviable position, that of a country vicar, and your charming vicarage, in order to…
1913 · PDF PAGE 356
THE EQUINOX The old guard does not surrender, but neither does it die! The proof of it is the enthusiasm of our children, who mean, one day, to be also soldiers of the old guard! Napoleon is no more a man: he is the very genius of France, he is the second saviour of the world, and he also gave for a sign the cross to his apostles. St. Helena and Golgotha are the beacons of the new civilization; they are the two piles of an immense bridge made by the rainbow of the final deluge, and which throws a bridge between the two worlds. And can you belie…
1913 · PDF PAGE 256
…at we record that Waite’s lapses have been comparatively few. Waite was no Crippen, be it under- stood. If Crowley teasingly called him “old lag” in friendly converse round the office fire, too strict a significance, too vital an importance, may easily be attached to the phrase. Crowley may only have been referring to the number of his incarnations. Or some secret meaning may lie hidden in the term. It was at least the fact that Waite was inclined to writhe under its application. So he did when any one said “ you and Westcott,” or “you and Wilm…
1913 · PDF PAGE 441
… his leave of the one-time Catholic writer, and went out meditating on the strange influence of this Vintras, who had so overthrown that old belief, and turned the old savant’s head. Some days afterwards, the qabalist Eliphas was awakened very early in the morning by an unknown visitor. It was a man with white hair, entirely clothed in black; his physio- 143
1913 · PDF PAGE 268
… your own ground. You have (for the first time in English) got French slang correct; but you clearly don’t know India, and some terrible old bore has planted the worst and feeblest form THE EQUINOX of a very stale cobra story on your innocence. There are several mistakes in these few pages—climate and natural history in particular. Figure to yourself that this bit of the book reads to me almost as Trléy reads to you !— THE YELLOW Wuat-Ho. A subterfuge in fugues. The Blue Grotto. No publisher. No price. No anything. 230 KING CROWLEY of Bronchiti…
1913 · PDF PAGE 493
… no other origin than the Tarot, and one finds there the same combina- tions and the same symbols: the king, the queen, the knight, the soldier, the fool, the tower, and houses representing numbers. In old times, chess-players sought upon their chess-board the solution of philosophical and religious problems, and argued silently with each other in manceuvring the hieroglyphic characters across the numbers. Our vulgar game of goose, revived from the old Grecian game, and also attributed to Palamedes, is nothing but a chess-board with motionless …
1913 · PDF PAGE 574
THE EQUINOX been seen old and broken, he reappeared with a bright com- plexion, without wrinkles, his beard and hair black, his body agile and vigorous. His enemies pretended that he rouged, and dyed his hair; for scoffers and false savants must find some sort of explanation for the phenomena which they do not understand. The great magical means of preserving the youth of the body is to prevent the soul from growing old by preserving preciously that original freshness of sentiments and thoughts which the corrupt world calls illusions, and which…
1913 · PDF PAGE 201
…ven by thought : He unveils the skies, And the star-dreams wrought By his frozen eyes Take shape and stand In his argent dream ; And the old gray land And the swift gray stream Glitter and gleam. The silver wonder Of silent stars, The silent thunder Of sunset’s bars, The crimson flare In the ashes of day, Are everywhere On the secret way: Under the hill The clamouring gnomes, For a moment still In their darkened homes, Hear the deep night,
1913 · PDF PAGE 296
…n in the course of time, and supposed lost, have been re- discovered by ourselves; without trouble we have opened all the doors of those old sanctuaries where absolute truth seemed to sleep,—always young, and always beautiful, like that princess of the childish legend, who, during a century of slumber, awaits the bridegroom whose mission it is to awaken her. After our book, there will still be mysteries, but higher and farther in the infinite depths. This publication is a light or a folly, a mystification or a monument. Read, reflect, and judge…
1913 · PDF PAGE 177
…o slim and white, The one sure blossom uncloses: When thou art lying still and dead, it blooms in the heart of the night. Shattered the golden sword in the great bronze hands of the old Hermaphrodite of the ages | O youth, so sad and wise, Shattered the strong hilt lies; The great bronze god for wages Has a hilt of gold, and eyes of gold, Beneath the sunless skies. Yet it were well to have been Idle and young and tender, Ignorantly and idly wise, disdainful in the dawn, Sweetest of all the green And gold that the gods surrender Of the sweet dea…
1913 · PDF PAGE 285
… science will change front; the spirit, so long de- throned and forgotten, will take its ancient place; it will be demonstrated that the old traditions are all true, that the whole of paganism is only a system of corrupted and misplaced truths, that it is sufficient to cleanse them, so to say, and to put them back again in their place, to see them shine with all their rays. In a word, all ideas will change, and since on all sides a multitude of the elect cry in concert, ‘Come, Lord, come!’ why should you blame the men who throw themselves forwa…
1913 · PDF PAGE 181
…ill shall I feel the wind that blows From the secret grave of thee, my Rose. IV DECADENCE TwILicut, that is the thin gray ghost of day, Holds the dim way of death ; the darkness grows More sanguine-hearted as the hour is sped, And with less light is fed; Thine hour grows, grows alway : Thou art mine, mine own, mine own, thou sanguine Rose. Thou sanguine Rose! Deep-hearted as the hour Thou bearest as a flame; more argent-shod Than the eloquent bringer of the god’s delight: Here, from the edge of night I pluck thee forth, a flower Too fair for th…
1913 · PDF PAGE 182
…assion of thy virgin will, Nor heed the murmurous song of thee, that blows Over their heads, my Rose: But in cool paths and shady Of the old secret woods, ah! they might find thee still! Rose! Rose! the driving rain, the shadows growing Over the pathway of the doubtful land, Obscure thee from me, and no foot-fall now I hear; if it be thou, So silent, that art going, I shall not know, nor in thy darkness understand.