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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.
Awaking with a start, The waters heave around me; and on high The winds list up their voices: I depart. Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by, When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad
Once more upon the waters! yet once more! And the waves bound beneath me as a steed That knows his rider. Welcome, to their roar! Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead! Though the strain’d mast should quiver as a reed, And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale, Still must I on; for I am as a weed, Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath
In my youth's summer I did sing of One,
O'er which all heavily the journeying years
Since my young days of passion-joy, or pain,
He, who grown aged in this world of woe,
The life we image, even as I do now.
VII. Yet must I think less wildly: – I have thought Too long and darkly, till my brain became, In its own eddy boiling and o’erwrought, A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame: And thus, unthaught in youth my heart to tame, My springs of life were poison'd, 'Tis too late! Yet am I chang'd; though still enough the same In strength to bear what time can not abate, And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate.