The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1896-08-20
THE PASSION FLOWER.
BY b. b. DE LUNA.

The gardens are tangled, the ruins are
old and gray, hardly one stone standing
above another. The bells are silent and
covered with moss. Even the grave
stones which mark the resting places
of the dead are dull and dark; the
names being almost illegible. All is
quiet, all is sad, all is deserted, save i'll
one place, where, climbing on broken
arch CLOVIS in unwonted luXurianCe
the warm brilliance of the passion
flower. A thing of life amidst the uni
versal death, a thing of beauty amidst
the desolation. Quivering in the wind,
burning in the sunshine, whispering in
the moonlight. 1t springs from d grave
apart from all the rest, grave scarcely
recognizable as SUCH save for the fallen
stone, upon which can be family traced
one word-a word which once drove the
city mad, q name which lives in song and
story, the name "Chonita."
The people shake their heads over the
light evenings the dark-eyed maids
lightly touching their guitars, sing
with tender pathos of Chonita. Chon
Eta, the wondrous dancer, the beauti
full, the gay.
Never were eyes so dark and tender.
never were lips SO red, never was siren
more bewitching. With her dainty feet
she danced into the hearts of all who
saw her. The whole city went mad.
Men died with her name on their lips.
Still she laughed and danced. Cruel?
Heartless? Yes. But, ah! the most
beautiful thing on earth.
The young maids hated her, for their
lovers forgot them after one look into
her dark eyes. The mothers cursed her.
for love of her meant death to their
sons. The priests feared her, for, to
them, she was the very incarnation of
evil; the devil who tempted their dis
ciples to sin. Yet what cared Chonita?
Tears, prayers, curses, alike fell I'M
needed on her rosy ears. One smile
from her lips and she set at naught
all priestly teachings. One glance from
her eyes and the teachers themselves
could not resist her.
Dance on little feeti Over the hearts
of men, anywhere, everywhere. In all
of Mexico there is but one Chonita, and
life is short! Dance on, dance on, the
waves are not more light. Soon will
all be over. The music, the passionate
pleadings, the cry from a thousand
adoring hearts: "Brava! bravo! Chou
tia! Chonita!" Soon the curtain drops,
the lights are out, all is silent. Not for
thy beauty, thy wondrous grace, thy
cruelty, do they remember thee. Not
these the burden of the songs the dark
eyed maidens sing-ah, no, Chonita!
One day there came to the city a
stranger. "Americano," the people
called him, and he was tall and fair and
handsome. He, too, saw Chonita, and
after one glance at her radiant beauty,
he, too, loved her. That was nothing,
Was she not the idol of them all? But
the moment that she looked into his
eyes, her heart awoke and SO she learned
what love was.
Night after night she danced, each
time more wonderfully than the last.
Ali how they loved her, adored her.
But she heard no longer their shouts
of praise, she cared not for the lights,
the music. She danced but for his eyes,
his love. Alas, Chonita!
The days passed quickly-ah, so
quickly! Then over the sunny Land
broke the dark storm of war. Awakened
from their dreams, forgetting love,
their idol, all, save their country, Mex
ico's sons responded to her call. At the
first whisper of the coming strife, the
stranger, too, FASTENED away; his coun-
try also demanded aid; and with him,
but all unknown to him, went Chonita,
for loves sweet sake.
Disguised as his servant, her lovely
face darkened with dyes her beautiful
hair cut short, through all the hard
times that came she followed him. Her
little feet that had danced so merrily
rested in the stirrups night and day.
Many a time her life stood between him.
Many a time her hand, once covered
with jewels, showered upon her by the
passionate sons of her native land,
turned aside their flashing swords lest
they should harm him.
Naught did she care for peril or pri-
walton. All would she bear, though
reared like tender flower.
Only to be near him, to look upon him,
even if all unknown. Only to hear from
his lips the careless praise a master
gives a servant She, the adored; she,
whose kisses he had once begged for.
All, well! Soon it would be over, soon