CRUCE AND CORONA.
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Betokens wondrous pow'r of intellect.Her clear blue eyes, within whose placid depthsA rare celestial brightness softly gleams,Are fixed in thoughtful gaze upon the man,Who seems not yet to note her entrance there,But soon as thought returns to outward thingsPerceives amid the shadows of the leavesThe shadow of the childish form; and then,Without uplifted glance, he gently says,"Corona, is it thou? Come hither, child."And, seated by her father's side, the childWith wonder listens to the story sad,The shipwreck on the reef in ocean storm,And how within the cavern they had foundThe sole survivor. For on yester eve,When he the tale repeated, she had slept,In grief and weariness, a troubled sleep.And when of her the father asks, "Wilt thou,Corona, welcome home this little child?"She answers with a happy smile, and joyBeams radiantly from her clear blue eyes.But when he to his question adding says,"To be a sister in the lost one's place?"The bright smile vanishes, the lips compress,And tears beneath the drooping eyelids flow.
Is it the mem'ry of the little one
