Brotherhood of the Rose Wolf

On the anniversary of 911 an attack on the American embassy in Libya resulted in the death of our American Embassador. This death may constitute the first death in the west as a result of the cultural warfare that is being conducted in cyber space due to the youtube posting of a film that insulted the prophet Mohammed. This film was made in order to counter the Arab Spring, a democratic movement by Muslims that western leaders favored. This movement took away support from the Christian and Jewish Zionists who want a doomsday battle to result in the destruction of most of the world. Why would any sane person back this Mountain of Doom?

In the last week we have seen the true nature of the cultural warfare being waged by the fake evangelical religion founded by John Darby in 1840. As Mitt Romeny declared War on the Poor, a meeting of Value Voters was being held by so called Christians, who have declared war on those who are not one of them. These holy voters believe they are defining the White Culture, and the White Race in America, but, they do not promote this race by attraction, but, by pointing out the shortcomings of a 100 million fellow voters in this democracy.

They are not one of us
They are not our skin color
They do not have the money we have
Jesus hates them

No group of men and women have done more to support or define the White Culture in the world, then the Pre-Raphaelite Brother and Sisterhood – along with J.R. Tolkien, whose Hobbits will again grace our silver screens. Tolkien was inspired by William Morris’s ‘The House of Wolfing’ a Pre-Raphaelite masterpiece that went hand in hand with Swineburn’s poems about Fair Rosamond, and Rosamund Queen of the Lombards.

Abve is the Rosemont cote of arms depicting a dancing wolf. The Companions of Rougemont employ the wolf in their cote of arms. The Rosamond family may have its roots in Rougemont, a town that employs a castle atop a red mountain in its civic cote of arms. We see this castle Rougemont on the shields of the knights above.
I am a Nazarite. I am of the House of the Red Wolf. I was dead in the wilderness, but, I am replanted. My cry is heard once again. The war with the Confederate Roman Empire – begins!

“Now, now, ye War-sons!
Now the Wolf waketh!
Lo how the Wood-beast
Wendeth in onset.
E’en as his feet fare
Fall on and follow!”

“Repent! Make straight paths for the Lord!”

Jon Rosamond the Nazarite

Red wolves are special. They are the only large predators ever to have been declared extinct in the wild, bred in captivity and successfully reintroduced to a portion of their former range. Bringing the red wolf back from the brink of extinction has been a pioneering venture, and thanks to the efforts of the people who worked diligently for years to ensure that red wolves would once again live in the wild, there is now hope and cautious optimism. But the future of the red wolf is not secure. Although red wolf numbers continue to rise slowly, the recovery effort faces major challenges.

http://www.rougemont.be/pages/indexpag.html

https://rosamondpress.wordpress.com/2012/04/18/the-rose-loom-of-the-world/

Leland E. Rosemond
March, 1938
Scarsdale, N. Y.
THE NAME ROSEMOND
Some confusion seems to have resulted from the fact that more than
one origin for this name has existed. The oldest, perhaps, is the
Teutonic “Hrosmond”, conspicuous as far back as the 6th century in
the history of the Gepidae and the Lombards of northern Italy. “Mond”
in the Anglo-Saxon signified the protection given by a noble, or
chieftain, to this dependents of every kin, and the name signified
among them strong, or famous, protection. The form “Rosenmund”,
usually reckoned as German, has been interpreted as “rose of the
world,” form the Latin “mundus” for world. In Danish the name appears
as Rozamond; in French, as Rosemonde, in Italian, as Rosmonda, and in
Latin and Spanish, as Rosamunda.
“The Huguenot tradition in the family, confirmed by such sources as
O’Hart’s Irish Pedigrees and Agnew’s French Protestant Exiles,
suggests a French origin also and this has been found in the
name “Rougemont”, still perpetuated by the name of a village in
southeastern France, near Switzerland, and another village in
southwestern Germany. Why this source seems preferable for our origin
will be mentioned again.
THE “ROUGEMONT” ORIGIN

The gracious and intelligent aid of Peter Rosemond of Flushing,
Holland, who lived for some years in Basle, Switzerland, was a large
contribution to the writer’s* investigation of the Huguenot
tradition. His family went from Basle to Holland in 1754. Researches
he made over many years, including 1911 to 1917 in Basle, furnished
him with material which he regarded as identifying us with a James
(or Jacob) Rosemond, born in Basle, January 1st, 1654 (which date is
not far from our traditional date of `about 1655′) who left home and
who did not reappear there even for the reading of

_______

*Fred L. Rosemond

Book shows end of Page 4 here

his father’s will in 1679 nor thereafter. This James (or Jacob, for
these names were once interchangeable) was the son of Hans Ulrich
Rosemond, born 1623, a weaver; who was a son of Hans, a weaver, born
1581; who was a son of Fred Rosemond, born 1552, a weaver, member of
town council and a local captain; who was the son of another Hans
whose date of birth is not known, but he too, was a weaver and became
a citizen of Basle in 1534. His father was Erhart de Rougemont who
bought in 1495 “the house called Rebleuten-Zunft in Basle in the
Freistrasse.’ Peter Rosemond further reported information from the
Records Office in Basle that “before Basle the family resided in
Holland up to 1338, and it is said they descended from the estate
Rosemont, near Belfort, in France, where also the village Rougemont
is found.” A family coat-of-arms was registered in Basle about 1537
when the first Hans became a resident there. A reproduction of this
coat-of-arms in the writer’s possession shows a weaver’s crook
conspicuously, and it will be remembered that in Ireland our people
were linen weavers and farmers, and that Edward, the elder, was a
weaver in this country. Peter Rosemond had seen in print the letters
from Erasmus to Gotschalk Rosemondt. He noticed that a seal used by a
Rosemont in Holland, bearing a jumping fox, was like an emblem he had
noticed in a wall of the house Rebleuten-Zunft in Basle. This seal
dated back to 1430, whereas the coat-of-arms above mentioned dates
from 1534, it seems. Peter Rosemond died September 22, 1930. This is
but a sketch of what he wrote.”

But I that am
Part of the perfect witness for the world,
How good it is; I chosen in God’s eyes
To fill the lean account of under men, The lank and hunger-bitten ugliness
Of half his people . . . I that am, ah yet,
And shall be till the worm has share in me,
Fairer than love or the clean truth of God,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I . . . have roses in my name, and make
All flowers glad to set their colour by.
Sunday: Sun’s Day. The Sun gave people light and warmth every day. They decided to name the first (or last) day of the week after the Sun.
Monday: Moon’s Day. The Moon was thought to be very important in the lives of people and their crops.
Tuesday: Tiw’s Day. Tiw, or Tyr, was a Norse god known for his sense of justice.
Wednesday: Woden’s Day. Woden, or Odin, was a Norse god who was one of the most powerful of them all.
Thursday: Thor’s Day. Thor was a Norse god who wielded a giant hammer.
Friday: Frigg’s Day. Frigg was a Norse god equal in power to Odin.
“It is a little matter,” she said; “the War-duke hath sent for the wondrous Byrny that he left in our treasury when he departed to meet the Romans. Belike there shall be a perilous battle, and few hearts need a stout sword-wall more than Thiodolf’s.”
As she spoke, Thorkettle had passed the door, and got into his saddle, and sat his black horse like a mighty man as he slowly rode down the turf bridge that led into the plain. And Asmund went to the door and stood watching him till he set spurs to his horse, and departed a great gallop to the south. Then said Asmund:
“What then are the Gods devising, what wonders do they will?
What mighty need is on them to work the kindreds ill,
That the seed of the Ancient Fathers and a woman of their kin
With her all unfading beauty must blend herself therein?
Are they fearing lest the kindreds should grow too fair and great,
And climb the stairs of God-home, and fashion all their fate,
And make all earth so merry that it never wax the worse,
Nor need a gift from any, nor prayers to quench the curse?
Fear they that the Folk-wolf, growing as the fire from out the spark
Into a very folk-god, shall lead the weaponed Mark
From wood to field and mountain, to stand between the earth
And the wrights that forge its thraldom and the sword to slay its
mirth?
Fear they that the sons of the wild-wood the Loathly Folk shall
quell,
And grow into Gods thereafter, and aloof in God-home dwell?
Therewith he turned back into the Hall, and was heavy-hearted and dreary of aspect; for he was somewhat foreseeing; and it may not be hidden that this seeming Thorkettle was no warrior of the Wolfings, but the Wood-Sun in his likeness; for she had the power and craft of shape-changing.

As he sat he strove to think about the Roman host and how he should deal with it; but despite himself his thoughts wandered, and made for him pictures of his life that should be when this time of battle was over; so that he saw nothing of the troubles that were upon his hands that night, but rather he saw himself partaking in the deeds of the life of man. There he was between the plough-stilts in the acres of the kindred when the west wind was blowing over the promise of early spring; or smiting down the ripe wheat in the hot afternoon amidst the laughter and merry talk of man and maid; or far away over Mirkwood-water watching the edges of the wood against the prowling wolf and lynx, the stars just beginning to shine over his head, as now they were; or wending the windless woods in the first frosts before the snow came, the hunter’s bow or javelin in hand: or coming back from the wood with the quarry on the sledge across the snow, when winter was deep, through the biting icy wind and the whirl of the drifting snow, to the lights and music of the Great Roof, and the merry talk therein and the smiling of the faces glad to see the hunting-carles come back; and the full draughts of mead, and the sweet rest a night-tide when the north wind was moaning round the ancient home.
All seemed good and fair to him, and whiles he looked around him, and saw the long dale lying on his left hand and the dark yews in its jaws pressing up against the rock-ledges of the brook, and on his right its windings as the ground rose up to the buttresses of the great ridge. The moon was rising over it, and he heard the voice of the brook as it tinkled over the stones above him; and the whistle of the plover and the laugh of the whimbrel came down the dale sharp and clear in the calm evening; and sounding far away, because the great hill muffled them, were the voices of his fellows on the ridge, and the songs of the warriors and the high-pitched cries of the watch. And this also was a part of the sweet life which was, and was to be; and he smiled and was happy and loved the days that were coming, and longed for them, as the young man longs for the feet of his maiden at the try sting-place.
“O Thiodolf, now tell me for what cause thou wouldst not bear
This grey wall of the hammer in the tempest of the spear?
Didst thou doubt my faith, O Folk-wolf, or the counsel of the Gods,
That thou needs must cast thee naked midst the flashing battle-rods,
Or is thy pride so mighty that it seemed to thee indeed
That death was a better guerdon than the love of the God-head’s
seed?”

So men made way before the grey horse, and its rider, and the horse was much spent and travel-worn. So the woman rode right into the ring of warriors, and drew rein there, and lighted down slowly and painfully, and when she was on the ground could scarce stand for stiffness; and two or three of the swains drew near her to help her, and knew her at once for Hrosshild of the Wolfings, for she was well- known as a doughty woman.
Then she said: “Bring me to Otter the War-duke; or bring him hither to me, which were best, since so many men are gathered together; and meanwhile give me to drink; for I am thirsty and weary.”
So while one went for Otter, another reached to her the mead-horn, and she had scarce done her draught, ere Otter was there, for they had found him at the gate of the Burg. He had many a time been in the Wolfing Hall, so he knew her at once and said:
“Hail, Hrosshild! how farest thou?”
She said: “I fare as the bearer of evil tidings. Bid thy folk do on their war-gear and saddle their horses, and make no delay; for now presently shall the Roman host be in Mid-mark!”
Then cried Otter: “Blow up the war-horn! get ye all to your weapons and be ready to leap on your horses, and come ye to the Thing in good order kindred by kindred: later on ye shall hear Hrosshild’s story as she shall tell it to me!”
Therewith he led her to a grassy knoll that was hard by, and set her down thereon and himself beside her, and said:
“Speak now, damsel, and fear not! For now shall one fate go over us all, either to live together or die together as the free children of Tyr, and friends of the Almighty God of the Earth. How camest thou to meet the Romans and know of their ways and to live thereafter?”

But the Romans crossed the ford in good earnest and were soon all gathered together on the western bank making them ready for the march to Wolfstead. And it must be told that the Roman Captain was the more deliberate about this because after the overthrow of his light-armed there the morning before, he thought that the Roof was held by warriors of the kindreds, and not by a few old men, and women, and lads. Therefore he had no fear of their escaping him. Moreover it was this imagination of his, to wit that a strong band of warriors was holding Wolf-stead, that made him deem there were no more worth thinking about of the warriors of the Mark save Otter’s Company and the men in the Hall of the Wolfings.
http://www.marxists.org/archive/morris/works/1888/wolfings/chapters/index.htm

“Now, now, ye War-sons!
Now the Wolf waketh!
Lo how the Wood-beast
Wendeth in onset.
E’en as his feet fare
Fall on and follow!”

At the other end of the hall was the Woman’s-Chamber, and therein were the looms and other gear for the carding and spinning of wool and the weaving of cloth.
Such was the Roof under which dwelt the kindred of the Wolfings; and the other kindreds of the Mid-mark had roofs like to it; and of these the chiefest were the Elkings, the Vallings, the Alftings, the Beamings, the Galtings, and the Bearings; who bore on their banners the Elk, the Falcon, the Swan, the Tree, the Boar, and the Bear. But other lesser and newer kindreds there were than these: as for the Hartings above named, they were a kindred of the Upper-mark.

GOP vice presidential candidate Paul Ryan’s address at the Value Voters Summit in Washington D.C. Friday was marked with several audible interruptions, as protesters rose at various points to heckle the Republican congressman. In the clip above, a man can be heard cutting off Ryan, yelling “corporations aren’t people,” a reference to presidential candidate Mitt Romney’s famous refrain. The audience quickly shouts him down with chants of “U-S-A, U-S-A,” before he is hauled away by security personnel.

The Family Research Council (FRC) is an American conservative Christian group and lobbying organization formed in the United States in 1981 by James Dobson. It was incorporated in 1983.[1] In the late 1980s, the FRC officially became a division of Dobson’s main organization, Focus on the Family, but after an administrative separation, the FRC became an independent entity in 1992. Tony Perkins is the current president.
The FRC promotes what it considers to be traditional family values, by advocating and lobbying for socially conservative policies. It opposes and lobbies against LGBT rights, abortion, divorce, embryonic stem-cell research, and pornography. The FRC is affiliated with a 501(c)(4) lobbying PAC known as FRC Action.[2] In 2010, the nonprofit civil rights organization[3][4][5] Southern Poverty Law Center classified the FRC as an anti-gay hate group, a designation which has caused controversy.

The first of Rosamond’s five scenes is the most forceful in demonstrating Swinburne’s debt to troubadour conventions as well as to Pre-Raphaelite stylistic influences. Courtly love preoccupations and the medieval setting overshadow elements of Jacobean revenge tragedy throughout the play. Swinburne’s Rosamond, rather than the historical queen of the Courts of Love, espouses the religion of love and, as a result of her lived creed, is poisoned by Eleanor out of jealousy. The play’s predominantly lyrical psychodramatic vignettes stress highlights of the relationships among the four main characters during the last months of Rosamond’s life. The action begins in spring and ends in late summer, but the only explicit time lapse occurs between the fourth and fifth scenes, when Henry is abroad, subduing the French provinces. In addition to the historical characters, Swinburne creates the courtier Bouchard, the serviceable object of the jealous Queen’s ambivalent affections. But Rosamond is significant primarily for the characterization of its tragic heroine, whose passion for Henry suggests the power of the courtly love influence on young Swinburne. In the “Prelude” to Tristram of Lyonesse (written nine years later), Swinburne catalogues “the sweet shining signs of women’s names / That [38/39] mark the months out and the weeks anew,” which Love “moves in changeless change of seasons through / To fill the days up of his dateless year”

But I that am
Part of the perfect witness for the world,
How good it is; I chosen in God’s eyes
To fill the lean account of under men, The lank and hunger-bitten ugliness
Of half his people . . . I that am, ah yet,
And shall be till the worm has share in me,
Fairer than love or the clean truth of God,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I . . . have roses in my name, and make
All flowers glad to set their colour by. (Tragedies, I, 236- 37)

God has no plague so perilous as love,
And no such honey for the lips of Christ
To purge them clean of gall and sweet for heaven.
It was to fit the naked limbs of love
He wrought and clothed the world with ordinance.
Yea let no wiser woman hear me say
I think that whoso shall unclothe his soul
Of all soft raiment coloured custom weaves,
And choose before the cushion-work of looms
Stones rough at edge to stab the tender side,
Put honour off and patience and respect
And veils and relics of remote esteem
To turn quite bare into large arms of love,[41/42]
God loves him better than those bitter fools
Whom ignorance makes clean, and bloodless use
Keeps colder than their dreams. (Tragedies, I, 238)

http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/swinburne/harrison/2.html

Is thy name
Babe? Sweet are babes as flowers that wed the sun,
But man may be not born a babe again,
And less than man may woman. Rosamund
Stands radiant now in royal pride of place
As wife of thine and queen of Lombards–not
Cunimund’s daughter. Hadst thou slain her sire
Shamefully, shame were thine to have sought her hand
And shame were hers to love thee: but he died
Manfully, by thy mightier hand than his
Manfully mastered. War, born blind as fire,
Fed not as fire upon her: many a maid
As royal dies disrobed of all but shame
And even to death burnt up for shame’s sake: she
Lives, by thy grace, imperial.

ROSAMUND.

I am yet alive to question if I live
And wonder what may ever bid me die.
But live I will, being yet not dead with thee,
Father. Thou knowest in Paradise my heart.
I feel thy kisses breathing on my lips,
Whereto the dead cold relic of thy face
Was pressed at bidding of thy slayer last night,
And yet they were not withered: nay, they are red
As blood is–blood but newly spilt–not thine.
How good thou wast and sweet of spirit–how dear,
Father! None lives that knew thee now save one,
And none loves me but thou nor thee but I,
That was till yesternight thy daughter: now
That very name is tainted, and my tongue
Tastes poison as I speak it. There is nought
Left in the range and record of the world
For me that is not poisoned: even my heart
Is all envenomed in me. Death is life,
Or priesthood lies that swears it: then I give
The man my husband and thy homicide
Life, if I slay him–the life he gave thee.

About Royal Rosamond Press

I am an artist, a writer, and a theologian.
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