CRUCE AND CORONA.
119
The sailors lift the sobbing child, and henceIn silence bear her to the waiting boat,That glides to meet the vessel far away.
'Tis sunset's hour; and grand old ocean rollsIts gold-tinged billows up the em'rald steeps,The moss-grown rocks that circle in their strengthA beauteous isle; though on one side the rocksComplete above their circle by an arch,Thus giving entrance to the waves below,That rolling on in gentler motion flow,A sea-born river, 'tween the verdant slopesThat lie on either side. The stately ship,Returned from voyaging the distant main,Now furls its sails, and anchors in the haven.
A throng of human beings press the shore,And joyful greetings wait the vessel's crew,Who hasten from the ship. And now at lastThe ship's commander, leading by the handThe child they rescued from the wreck-strewn reef,Steps on the land; and, greetings interchanged,Speaks thus he to the throng which gathers round:"My friends, I bring to your most lovely isleA little stranger. On a distant reefSome fragments of a shattered vessel lie,—We doubt not, stranded there in last night's storm;
