Not new, but ancient friends.

What thrilled me in a previous state
Rekindles here its ancient flame;
What I by instinct love and hate
I knew before I came;

And lands, of which in youth I dreamed
And read, heart-moved, and longed to see,
When really visited, have seemed
Not strange but known to me.

When Mozart, still a child, untaught,
Ran joyous to the silent keys,
And with inspired fingers wrought
Majestic harmonies,

There fell upon his psychic ear
Faint echoes of a music known
Before his natal advent here,
In former lives outgrown.

In many a dumb brute's wistful eyes
A dawning human soul aspires,
For thus from lower forms we rise,--
Ourselves our spirits' sires.

Full many a thought that thrills my breast
Is fruit resulting from a seed
Sown elsewhere,--on my soul impressed