CRUCE AND CORONA.
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That scarce three earthly years hath sojourned here,Which touches ev'ry soul with interestMore sad, more tender e'en, than that called forthBy what they know already of her fate. The little stranger now, as if her soulHad felt the sympathy of those around,Turns on them full her deep and pensive gaze.It seems as through her eyes a spirit gazedWhose being all had passed amid the shadesOf sorrow's land; yet in her glance is blentWith that mysterious sadness, other look,Prophetic, high, that seems to tell of pow'rTo triumph o'er all sorrow at the last.
Now from the silent throng advancing comesA man, who stands beside the moss-grown rock;And thus he to the ship's commander speaks:"This morn, O friend! beheld the island turfPlaced o'er the coffin of my little child.This little stranger to my lonely homeI welcome. There a mother she will find;And little sister in the lost one's placeShall be the stranger to my only child.
"Crucè, my little one, wilt go with me?"Two little outreached hands are his reply.He takes her in his arms, and to his home
