Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child! Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart? When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, And then we parted,-not as now we part, But with a hope.— The waters heave around me; and on high The winds lift up their voices: I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by, Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child! When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smiled, But with a hope. Awaking with a start, The waters heave around me; and on high The winds lift up their voices: I depart, Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by, II. Once more upon the waters! yet once more! Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail III. In my youth's summer I did sing of One, Bears the cloud onwards: in that Tale I find The furrows of long thought, and dried-up tears, O'er which all heavily the journeying years Plod the last sands of life,-where not a flower appears. IV. Since my young days of passion-joy, or pain, V. He, who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, Of silent, sharp endurance: he can tell Why thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rife Still unimpair'd, though old, in the soul's haunted cell. VI. 'Tis to create, and in creating live A being more intense, that we endow What am I? Nothing: but not so art thou, Soul of my thought! with whom I traverse earth, Mix'd with thy spirit, blended with thy birth, And feeling still with thee in my crush'd feelings' dearth. VII. Yet must I think less wildly:-I have thought And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame, |