The Wedding-Gown

Etta W. Pierce

"Bring it from the oaken press; full fifty years ago

I sewed those seams, my heart all full of youth and hope and Joe—

Joe, whose wife I was to be—my lover, strong and brown,

Captain of the stanchest craft that sailed from Gloucester town.

It seems a worthless thing to hold so carefully in store,

This poor, old, faded bridal dress, which no bride ever wore;

Cut in the curious style of half a century ago,

With scanty skirt and 'broidered bands—my own hands shaped it so.

Niece Hester, spread it on my bed—my eyes grow blind with tears;

I touch its limp and yellow folds, and lo! the long dead years

Come trooping back like churchyard ghosts. This was my wedding-gown—

'Twas made the year the equinox brought woe to Gloucester town.

"Ah, I remember well the night I walked the beach with him—

The moon was rising just above the ocean's purple rim,

And all the savage Cape Ann rocks shone in her mellow light;

The time was spring, and heaven itself seemed close to us that night.

We heard the cool waves beat the shore, the seabird's startled cry;

Like spirits in the dark, we saw the coasters flitting by.

High in their towers the beacons burned, like wintry embers red,

From Ipswich, down the rough sea-line, to crag-girt Marblehead.

'I love you, Nan!' Joe said, at last, in his grave, simple way—

I'd felt the words a-coming, child, for many a long, glad day.

I hung my head, he kissed me—oh, sweetest hour of life!

A stammering word, a sigh, and I was Joe's own promised wife.

"But fishing-folks have much to do; my lover could not stay—

The gallant Gloucester fleet was bound to waters far away,

Where wild storms swoop, and shattering fogs muster their dim, gray ranks,

And spread a winding-sheet for men upon the fatal Banks.

And he, my Joe, must go to reap the harvest of the deep,

While I, like other women, stayed behind to mourn and weep,

And I would see his face no more till autumn woods were brown.

His schooner Nan was swift and new, the pride of Gloucester town;

He called her by my name. ''Tis sure to bring me luck,' said Joe.

She spread her wings, and through my tears I stood and watched her go.

"The days grew hot and long; I sewed the crisp and shining seams

Of this, my wedding-gown, and dreamed a thousand happy dreams

Of future years and Joe, while leaf and bud and sweet marsh-flower

I fashioned on the muslin fine, for many a patient hour.

In Gloucester wood the wild rose bloomed, and shed its sweets and died,

And dry and tawny grew the grass along the marshes wide.

The last stitch in my gown was set; I looked across the sea—

'Fly fast, oh, time, fly fast!' I said, 'and bring him home to me;

And I will deck my yellow hair and don my bridal gown,

The day the gallant fishing-fleet comes back to Gloucester town!'

"The rough skies darkened o'er the deep, loud blew the autumn gales;

With anxious eyes the fishers' wives watched for the home-bound sails

From Gloucester shore, and Rockport crags, lashed by the breakers dread,

From cottage doors of Beverly, and rocks of Marblehead.

Ah, child, with trembling hand I set my candle at the pane,

With fainting heart and choking breath, I heard the dolorous rain—

The sea that beat the groaning beach with wild and thunderous shocks,

The black death calling, calling from the savage equinox;

The flap of sails, the crash of masts, or so it seemed to me,

And cries of strong men drowning in the clutches of the sea.

"I never wore my wedding-gown, so crisp and fine and fair;

I never decked with bridal flowers my pretty yellow hair,

No bridegroom came to claim me when the autumn leaves were sear,

For there was bitter wailing on the rugged coast that year;

And vain was further vigil from its rocks and beaches brown

For never did the fishing-fleet sail back to Gloucester town.

"'Twas fifty years ago. There, child, put back the faded dress,

My winding-sheet of youth and hope, into the oaken press.

My life hath known no other joy, my heart no other glow,

Feeble and worn, it still beats on in faithful love for Joe;

And, like some hulk cast on a shore by waters sore distressed,

I wait until he calls me from his own good place of rest."

She woke at dawn and lifted up her head so old and gray,

And stared across the sandy beach, and o'er the low blue bay.

It was the hour when mists depart and midnight phantoms flee,

The rosy sun was blushing red along the splendid sea.

A rapture lit her face. "The bay is white with sails!" she cried,

"They sweep it like the silver foam of waves at rising tide—

Sails from an unknown sea. Oh, haste and bring my wedding-gown—

It is the long-lost fishing-fleet come back to Gloucester town!

And look! his Nan leads all the rest. Dear Lord, I see my Joe!

He beckons from her shining deck—haste, friends, for I must go.

The old, old light is in his eyes, the old smile on his lips;

All grand and pale he stands among the crowding, white-winged ships.

This is our wedding-morn. At last the bridegroom claims his bride.

Sweetheart, I have been true; my hand—here—take it!"Then she died.