CXV. My daughter! with thy name this song begun-- My daughter! with thy name this much shall end-- I see thee not, I hear thee not,--but none Can be so wrapt in thee; thou art the friend To whom the shadows of far years extend: Albeit my brow thou never shouldst behold, My voice shall with thy future visions blend, And reach into thy heart, when mine is cold,-- A token and a tone, even from thy father's mould.