Mae Madden Part 1

Mae Madden.

by Mary Murdoch Mason.

A DREAM OF ITALY.

AN ALLEGORY INTRODUCING "MAE MADDEN."

I.

We two had been parted, G.o.d pity us, when The stars were unnamed and when heaven was dim; We two had been parted far back on the rim And the outermost border of heaven's red bars: We two had been parted ere the meeting of men Or G.o.d had set compa.s.s on s.p.a.ces as yet.

We two had been parted ere G.o.d had set His finger to spinning the s.p.a.ces with stars,-- And now, at the last in the gold and set Of the sun of Venice, we two had met.

II.

Where the lion of Venice, with brows afrown, With tossed mane tumbled, and teeth in air, Looks out in his watch o'er the watery town, With a paw half lifted, with his claws half bare, By the blue Adriatic, in the edge of the sea, I saw her. I knew her, but she knew not me.

I had found her at last! Why, I had sailed The antipodes through, had sought, had hailed All flags, had climbed where the storm clouds curled, And called from the awful arched dome of the world.

III.

I saw her one moment, then fell back abashed And filled full to the throat. . . . Then I turned me once more So glad to the sea, while the level sun flashed On the far, snowy Alps. . . . Her breast! Why, her breast Was white as twin pillows that allure you to rest; Her sloping limbs moved like to melodies, told As she rose from the sea, and she threw back the gold Of her glory of hair, and set face to the sh.o.r.e. . . .

I knew her! I knew her, though we had not met Since the far stars sang to the sun's first set.

IV.

How long I had sought her! I had hungered, nor ate Of any sweet fruits. I had tasted not one Of all the fair glories grown under the sun.

I had sought only her. Yea, I knew that she Had come upon earth and stood waiting for me Somewhere by my way. But the path ways of fate They had led otherwhere. The round world round, The far North seas and the near profound Had failed me for aye. Now I stood by that sea While a s.h.i.+p drove by, and all dreamily.

V.

I had turned from the lion a time, and when I looked tow'rd the tide and out on the lea Of the town where the warm sea tumbled and teemed With beauty, I saw her. I knew her then, The tallest, the fairest fair daughter of men.

O, Venice stood full in her glory. She gleamed In the splendor of sunset and sensuous sea; Yet I saw but my bride, my affinity, While the doves hurried home to the dome of Saint Mark And the bra.s.s horses plunged their high manes in the dark,

VI.

Was it well with my love? Was she true? Was she brave With virtue's own valor? Was she waiting for me?

O, how fared my love! Had she home? Had she bread?

Had she known but the touch of the warm-tempered wave?

Was she born upon earth with a crown on her head; Or born like myself, but a dreamer, instead?

So long it had been! So long! Why the sea, That wrinkled and surly old time-tempered slave, Had been born, had his revels, grown wrinkled and h.o.a.r Since I last saw my love on that uttermost sh.o.r.e.

VII.

O, how fared my love? Once I lifted my face And I shook back my hair and looked out on the sea; I pressed my hot palms as I stood in my place And cried, "O, I come like a king to your side Though all h.e.l.l intervene." . . . "Hist! she may be a bride!

A mother at peace, with sweet babes on her knee!

A babe at her breast and a spouse at her side! . . .

Have I wandered too long, and has destiny Set mortal between us?" I buried my face In my hands, and I moaned as I stood in my place.

VIII.

'Twas her year to be young. She was tall, she was fair Was she pure as the snow on the Alps over there?

'Twas her year to be young. She was fair, she was tall And I knew she was true as I lifted my face And saw her press down her rich robe to its place With a hand white and small as a babe's with a doll, And her feet--why, her feet, in the white s.h.i.+ning sand, Were so small they might nest in my one brawny hand.

Then she pushed back her hair with a round hand that shone And flashed in the light with a white starry stone.

IX.

Then, my love she was rich. My love she was fair.

Was she pure as the snow on the Alps over there?

She was gorgeous with wealth, "Thank G.o.d, she has bread,"

I said to myself. Then I humbled my head In grat.i.tude. Then I questioned me where Was her palace? her parents? What name did she bear?

What mortal on earth came nearest her heart?

Who touched the small hand till it thrilled to a smart?

'Twas her day to be young. She was proud, she was fair.

Was she pure as the snow on the Alps over there?

X.

Now she turned, reached a hand; then a tall gondolier That had leaned on his oar, like a long lifted spear, Shot sudden and swift and all silently And drew to her side as she turned from the tide. . .

It was odd, such a thing, and I counted it queer That a princess like this, whether virgin or bride, Should abide thus apart, and should bathe in that sea; And I shook back my hair, and so unsatisfied.

Then I fluttered the doves that were perched close about, As I strode up and down in dismay and in doubt.

XI.

Then she stood in the boat on the borders of night As a G.o.ddess might stand on that far wonder land Of eternal sweet life, which men have named Death.

I turned to the sea and I caught at my breath, As she drew from the boat through her white baby hand Her vestment of purple imperial, and white.

Then the gondola shot! swift, sharp from the sh.o.r.e.

There was never the sound of a song or of oar But the doves hurried home in white clouds to Saint Mark, And the lion loomed high o'er the sea in the dark.

XII.

Then I cried, "Quick! Follow her. Follow her. Fast!

Come! Thrice double fare if you follow her true To her own palace door." There was plas.h.i.+ng of oar And rattle of rowlock. . . . I sat leaning low Looking far in the dark, looking out as we sped With my soul all alert, bending down, leaning low.

But only the oaths of the men as we pa.s.sed When we jostled them sharp as we sudden shot thro'

The watery town. Then a deep, distant roar-- The rattle of rowlock, the rush of the oar.

XIII.

Then an oath. Then a prayer! Then a gust that made rents Through the yellow sailed fishers. Then suddenly Came sharp forked fire! Then far thunder fell Like the great first gun! Ah, then there was route Of s.h.i.+ps like the breaking of regiments And shouts as if hurled from an upper h.e.l.l.

Then tempest! It lifted, it spun us about, Then shot us ahead through the hills of the sea As if a great arrow shot sh.o.r.eward in wars-- Then heaven split open till we saw the blown stars.

XIV.

On! On! Through the foam, through the storm, through the town, She was gone. She was lost in the wilderness Of palaces lifting their marbles of snow.

I stood in my gondola. Up and all down I pushed through the surge of the salt-flood street Above me, below. . . Twas only the beat Of the sea's sad heart. . . Then I heard below The water-rat building, but nothing but that; Not even the sea bird screaming distress, As she lost her way in that wilderness.

XV.

I listened all night. I caught at each sound; I clutched and I caught as a man that drown'd. . . .

Only the sullen low growl of the sea Far out the flood street at the edge of the s.h.i.+ps.