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  And kept its lustre and its power, To teach the earth, The wond'ring earth, What shapes immortals are!

"No human beauty ever bore An aspect thus divine; The crown the brows of Seraphs wore Hath left its mark on thine; — Th' unconscious glories round thee bear The stamp divine Of One divine, Who trod the spheres of yore.

"Oh! radiant stranger, dost thou dream That thine may ever be The hopes and joys of human things? —They were not meant for thee! Below, for thee, No home for thee, Bright Daughter of the Beam!

"The yearning in thine absent eyes Is for thy native shore; And heaven is heard in every wind Thy heartstrings wandering o'er; In vain thou'st sought with us to find The life before. The light before Thy spirit left the skies.

"And Mirth may flash around, and Love May breathe its wildest vow; But neither Mirth, nor Love, shall chase The shadow from thy brow; There's naught in fate that can efface From that pale brow. That stately brow, The memories born above.

"To mortals mortal change is given, The sunshine as the rain! To them the comfort and the care— The pleasure and the pain! To thee and thine our very air Is silent pain, A heavy pain! —On earth thou askest heaven!" 

XI.— JOHN WILSON.

We most of us know the story of the circumforaneous tradesman who stole his besoms ready-made; and some of us may perchance have honoured his custom in its casual observance. This has its advantages. That was not a bad epigram indited by old Townsend,—sometime vicar of Kingston-on-Sea, a celibate, misogynist, and old crony of Wordsworth