The Dawson news. (Dawson, Ga.) 1889-current, 1892-03-02
THE DRAMA CT The ROSE.

As opened the ancient volumes l had
taken from the library a rose-heaven
knows how many centuries had passed
since it had bloomed!-pressed in the
pages pale, indistinct, fell, w.thered, at
my feet.
There in that dim room whose dust
and darkness almost drowned the glim-
mering hght-alone with a book and
rose fell to dreaming. And such a
dream.
What was the hidden power in the
breast of that dead rose? AS it fell fro m
its ancient prison a subtle perfume filed
the room; it was first the sharp, sweet
perfume of early spring when dawns are
chilly then the scent of summer rains in
dusty ways; the languorous ordor of
autumn twiligbts, and them
But the dreary room seemed clouded;
the light flickered, blazed and died; the
sllken curtains rustled as if thrilled by
the spirit of coming storm; the pictured
~N%SS' OAA viz Wdllo DIT IIlG WIN dW-
full eyes, and | seemed to lose myself
IN some wild dream. The dead rose at
my feet grew luminous with life: felt
its petals fan my face; it's sharp thorns
pricked my face, until it's white crest
was crimsoned with the red drops of nv
own blood.
"Madam!'' cried the rose, 'to drag me
from my dreams in the dark of centu-
ries!l What is your world to me, who
died for love long centuries agor'
would have answered, but all power
of speech had left me; and suddenly,
while yet the rose was speaking, the room
seemed ablaze with light and color:
strange faces fitted about me; bell
rang; crimson curtain rolled up from a
splendid stage; there was a sound ofmu-
sic; two forms stood out before me; then
woman bent down, and plucking fine
rose from garden of roses, kissed it,
and pinned it on her lovers breast
Then, like dream, she passed away.
The scene changed. In the dim light
OF gray dawn two men met in forest:
there was glitter of steel, clashing
OF swords, and then one man lay dead.
The other bending over him tore from
his wounded breast rose, red with the
hfe-drops of his faithful heart and, pass
ed into the forest and the dawn.
Then the beautiful woman who had
pluGked that sad rose for her lover, sat
IN the twilight dreaming of his kisses
listening for his footsteps.
There was sudden rustic in the leaves.
tremor of the vines and the slayer,
tteeting from that white face in the for
est, bowed down to her and, kissing her
hand, gave her the bloody rose.
She did not speak. She only kissed it
as she did that day when her white hand
pinned it on her lovers breast; and kiss
ing it, her sweet tears fell and made it
white again
Then came roar of voices. the buck
ling on of armor, the rattle of swords in
their scabbards, the dashing of men into
the forest after a tleeting figure whose
hand clasped dripping sword.
But above all, the weeping of woman
over ruined rose; and then, her pale
lips kissing it with loves last kisses, for
the sweet sake of love that was no more
And did they catch the murderer?''
a voice asked at my side.
The sound awakened me. The room
the library-light and child's kiss on
my forehead!
The rose! The roser l gasp. And
then-l stroke the golden curls that nes-
tie near me and smile as she says:
You have been talking in your dreams
FRANK L. STANTON.