The democrat. [volume] (Weston, W. Va.) 1868-1874, 1873-09-15

uoule lhCe huu Hhuubome lOtm appeared
abroad, all felt for him the iiyeliest
sympathy, and women's hearts he took
by storm. Still he renamed homesick
and restless, m exile from all he held
dear.
The unhappy dreamer wandered on
until he ut last found refuge in Padua.
The sombre character OF the city no.
corded with his melancholy and pious
monks received him as guest into
their clolster. There, for hours long,
he would sit at q window gazing out
into tho quiet cloister garden, or listen.
ing dreamily to the water OF the foun.
tain, as it fell ripping into the broad,
marble basin or he would lean his
weary forehead against the thrilling vines
Of the perennial white roses, inhaling
their fragrnnce-.afragrance that brought
to him n thousand sweet dreams and re.
membranes.
And so, day after day, he waited for
the message from home. Noiseless foot
steps fitted past him footsteps of the
monks, grave, earnest men with
thoughtful foreheads and eyes that
spoke Of peace. With tenderest sympa.
thy they gazed into that young, gentle
face, that bore traces OF heavy conflicts,
and Of wild, passionate longings.
One day messenger from England
demanded secret audience OF Edward
Courtenay, and when il was granted,
the stranger handed him little casket
with q golden key. The casket con-
tanned nothing but the secret poems OF
Elizabeth and withered white rose
which turned to dust at the touch OF
her lovers trembling hand. There was
no other message-not word. Tho
messenger knew not who had sent the
casket, md he returned literally r6-
warded. -
In deepest emotion, Edward Courte-
nay pressed the written leaves to his
lips-a strange, intoxicating perfume
stole from them. His senses wavered,
but as soon rs he came to himself, with
glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes, ho
rushed 10 his serious fri end. al mgst
return home at once" he said, hastily
"my bride calls me. Rejoice with me,
for I shall be happyp
Scarce had he Bpok en- these words
when ho fell into swoBn. Wild fever
phantasies followed; and the next
morning the pious monks wept and
prayed by the corpse OF him they had
loved SO well. For three days the
beautiful dead lay in stnte, covered
with white roses; and, as they bore him
to his grave in the Church. OF San An
tonius, women and children strewed
white roses all the way, so that it
almost seemed as II snow had fallen.
Roses followed linn iuto the dark vault,
and tho mysterious casket was laid in
his coffin.
A report that Edward Courtenay had
been poisoned, spread throughout Italy
and reached England. The messenger
was never seenor heard Of again. And
so ended the life of the most unfortu-
nate cousin OF two mighty queens.
Elizabeth, when she became Queen
OF England, no very long time after
wards, was the bountiful patroness OF
poets but that poem in the Tower was
her last. She never wrote stanza
afterwards. In her heart st.e bore n
lifelong sorrow for him who had been
taken from her in so terrible aud mys.
terious way, and persons who had
been in tile secret Of her love were
wont to say that there lay the reason
why she never married.
One morning, to her horror, she had
missed the precious casket, and all
search for IL proved unnyailinp, Whe-
ther she afterwards had her suspicious
that its disappearance had anything to
do with the death of her lover, was not
known. tits certain, however, that her
only verses and her only love sleep in
that coffin ut Padua which encloses the
dust OF him who was once called "The
White Rose of York"