Transcriber's note:
Minor spelling and punctuation inconsistencies have been harmonized. The original use of accented words has been retained. Missing page numbers are page numbers that were not shown in the original text.

Contrasted Songs

BY

MARIAN LONGFELLOW

BOSTON
RICHARD G. BADGER
The Gorham Press
1905

Copyright 1904 by Marian Longfellow

All Rights Reserved

Printed at
THE GORHAM PRESS
Boston, U. S. A.

In Perpetual and Loving Remembrance of
M. P. F.
Who Has Gone Before,
and of
E. T. L.
Who Still Walks with Me,
These Songs are dedicated by
The Author

PREFACE

In presenting to the public the within collection, some of which were published originally under the nom-de-plume of "Miriam Lester," I have had to go into the highways and byways to gather the children who had strayed into various paths.

Some have been easily found in books of which they were a part, and I desire to thank the editors of "The Library of Religious Poetry," the family of the late Charles Henshaw Dana, of Worcester, Mass., the Boston "Herald," and others for permission to use such.

The task of gathering the children who made their debut within the columns of the Boston "Transcript," the Eastport "Sentinel," the Washington "Post," the "Saturday Gazette" (Boston), and other journals, has been no light task, and some are still straying beyond my ken.

Among these "Contrasted Songs" I trust that the reader will find something to which the heart may respond.

Faithfully yours,
Marian Longfellow.
Washington, D. C.

CONTENTS

SONGS OF THE SEA

A SONG OF THE SEA

The mystic sea is singing its golden song to me;

I bend to catch its murmur in silent ecstasy;

Till, as the music ringeth in sweet and solemn tone,

An answering echo waketh a music all mine own!

The sea sings softly, softly upon my listening ear,

And still its notes fall ever in cadence full and clear.

The song that waxeth stronger within my beating heart

Seems but a second measure—seems of the sea a part!

And far from all the burdens that day brings in its train,

My soul hath found Elysium—renews its youth again!

I hear the golden billows beat on the rock-bound shore,

And still my heart is singing that sweet song o'er and o'er!

O happy Youth, how quickly the sands of life have run!

The shades of eve are falling ere yet the day is done!

The golden sea eternal beats loud and strong and free,

And bears upon its bosom a joy eternally!

THE SPIRIT OF THE WATER

'Tis the Spirit of the Water! it breathes upon the sea;

As phantom in its motions it glides mysteriously!

I see the snow-clad islands that deck the opal bay,

And the Spirit of the Water now robed in mist and spray.

The charm that clings eternal to ocean fills my soul,

As mist-wreathed waves in grandeur pass on unto their goal!

Ye phantoms on Life's ocean! how like the mist ye seem,

As backward turneth memory across Life's glow and gleam!

For ye figure forth Life's pleasures, its cares, its tears and pain,

And recall with all their glamour Youth's joyous dreams again!

While still the fateful presence glides on across the wave,

Nor lifts its veil of mystery until we reach the grave!

O speak! is it endeavor, or is it blighted faith?

Or is it but the passing of pain—this silent wraith?

We know not, oh, we know not here, for o'er Life's restless sea

We too glide on, as phantoms all, this side Eternity!

WITH THE TIDE

Calm seas that lie 'neath summer skies

And mirror back those skies to me,

Upon whose breast white sails arise

And glide like spirits grand and free.

Calm seas beneath whose hidden deep

Are wonders far beyond my ken,

There, rocked in murmuring currents, sleep

The secrets not revealed to men!

Peace, like a white-winged dove descends

And hovers o'er the waters bright,

While glory of the sunset blends

With tones of the approaching night.

My glad soul bids thee welcome, and

Goes forth upon the ocean's tide!

Far from the care that fills the land,

To where my spirit would abide!

Till, as the cares of day depart

And the glad sea its greeting calls,

I rise unshackled, strong of heart,

And from my life the burden falls!

Thus in this quiet nook I find

All that I longed and sought in vain

In the world's haunts, my soul to bind,

And, seeking, found but grief and pain.

Now, like a blessing falls thy grace,

O grand, beloved, glorious sea!

Drawn by thy message, face to face,

My longing greets thy mystery!

GRAND MANAN

(1881)

O solemn cliffs of Grand Manan!

In silent might ye rise,

As bounded by th' eternal sea

And by the azure skies!

Like a proud soul that stands apart,

Unknown, unloved, unsought,

Ye guard your stronghold silently

Through many battles fought.

The sea-gull sweeps across your wall,

And seaward shapes his course!

While at your feet the waves beat loud

In measure wild and hoarse.

O solemn heights! O grand and calm!

Ye hold my heart in thrall!

And not a sound is heard beyond

The ocean's rise and fall.

But as the waves beat strong and loud

Upon your rugged shore,

Through it the sea's sad monotone

I hear forevermore!

The sunset glow hath kissed your heights,

As loth to leave you yet;

And, bathed in glories red and gold,

The eve and you have met.

The boat speeds on—we may not stay,

But from my brooding heart

Your image, while this life remains,

Can nevermore depart!

LEEWARD

O for the bounding wave, and the salt, salt spray on my face!

For the sweep of the filling sail, and its free, untrammeled pace!

For the life that hath no bound to its path but the open sea;

For the soul as free as air, that by right belongs to me!

For power to cast aside these fetters dark and strong,

To bound over heaving deep—and no more to feel the thong

That cuts through the quivering heart and the restless soul, as well!

I yearn for a fuller life, with a might I cannot quell!

O for the bounding wave, and the salt, salt spray on my face!

For the strength to grasp and hold the plan of a waning race.

For might to compel the tide in its turn to serve my will,

That my heart of the fountain deep, may drink to the brim its fill!

SONGS OF THE FIELDS AND WOODS

A SONG IN THE EVENING

O sweetest bird that ever sang

In notes of wild rejoicing;

Thine even-song as first it rang,

Was thrilling in its voicing!

I felt thy rapture as I heard

Thy song in all its beauty;

To me it scarce seemed but a bird;

'Twas life, and love, and duty!

I could not see thy tiny form,

As softly closed the gloaming;

And like a wanderer in the storm

My heart was blindly roaming.

While, as thy song rang pure and clear

O'er sweet smell of the haying,

Mem'ry sped back through many a year,

Both light and shade displaying.

And still thy notes of reed-like tone

Came clear o'er mead and river,

With tender meaning all its own,

And trilled and trilled forever!

"O heart," it sang, "let thine own life

Become a song to others,

That thou mayst count them in the strife

Not alien, but as brothers!

Sing on, sing on, thy notes repeat,

Sing life, and love, and duty,

That mystic three whose names replete

Are e'er with heavenly beauty.

Sing life, the gift of ray divine

That pierced the gloom of even;

The first upon our path to shine,

A heritage of Heaven!

And love—oh, what were life without

This second gift eternal,

That bids the glad earth blossom out

In summer's garb supernal!

Yet love and life were both in vain

Were duty not a flower

That springs beneath the blesséd rain

To crown Life's darkest hour!"

Not unto me a bird, that eve,

In notes of earth was singing,

But a pure voice its way did cleave

From Heaven its message bringing!

MEADOW BLOOM

My one wee bud that grows in the meadow,

Far apart from the flaunting garden blooms,

Afar, where the brook and birds are singing,

And the soft noon haze o'er the distance looms.

My one wee bud, but to grow so bravely

Where the rushes rise from the moorland green,

Where birds skim close o'er the grassy billows

And the low breeze murmurs its plaint between.

My one wee song I sing in the even,

When the home doth gather its loved ones close,

And the world's afar and hearts grow nearer,

And the jar of life sinks into repose.

My one wee song, like a flower growing

In this life of mine that were else so bare!

Ah! shalt thou go forth to do my bidding—

My love, shall he cull it as blossom fair?

Ah! flower and song, be this thy meaning,

Thy mission of love in the world is clear;

The grace once born of seed sown in shadow

Shall bloom in the hearts that now hold thee dear!

A SONG OF THE AUTUMN

Scarlet and gold and crimson,

Their banners flung to the breeze,

Like monarchs' brilliant vesture

The ranks of the maple trees.

Golden and brown and russet

The oaks in their Autumn dress;

Soldiers in ranks deploying,

To the front they onward press.

Pale in their coats of yellow,

Tinged and with orange flecked,

The chestnuts on the hillside,

As with royalty bedecked.

Scarlet and gold and crimson,

And golden and russet brown;

Pale with a sun-kissed yellow

Are the leaves now fluttering down.

Garb of the season's bringing,

Majestic it decks the hills,

And Autumn's lavish splendor

The soul with its beauty fills.

THE IRIS

Adown the grassy hill they come,

To greet me, every morn;

Those little maids (in Norman caps)

Of joy and spring-time born.

They march demurely, side by side,

How many pair there be!

Far as mine eye can reach, their forms

In green and white I see.

Each sister wears with youthful grace

Her snowy Norman cap,

And in the long procession there

I see no pause or gap.

And so, I watch to see them come

As morn by morn I pass,

The green of shimmering robe and glint

Of snow within the grass.

They never speak and yet they nod

A friendly greeting there,

And all their beauty round me seems

A fragrance in the air.

I speak to them? Oh, yes, I speak

And lovingly I bid

Them welcome every summer morn,

Those maids with downcast lid!

They are so modest, pure and fair;

They are so very sweet,

I fain would linger there and call

Them clustering round my feet.

Far backward in the view my eyes

The slow procession see,

And yet they never leave the path

Nor can they speak to me.

'Tis the flag-lily growing tall

Amid the meadow grass;

The Iris, as we often call

Each snowy-snooded lass.

In couples stately, there they stand

As far as eye can scan,

And round them waves the nodding grass

As homage due from man.

They stand a line of vestals pure,

Or each a sweet-faced nun;

While on each snowy cap there falls

The radiance of the sun.

Although the power of speech may not

Be theirs in worldly phrase,

They teach a lesson just as true,

And just as full of praise.

In their allotted path they walk,

And fill their destined end,