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CRUCE AND CORONA.
Awakened by that one word, "sister," worksThis quick transition? or with this did comeA fear lest in a void within her soulA stranger rudely ent'ring should intrude?Though only seven summers o'er her headHave floated in their beauty, yet hath sheThoughts far more high, emotions deeper e'enThan many who have entered death's dark vale,Their hair all whitened with the snows of age.Howe'er it be, the father questions not,But, rising, only says, "Corona, come."
Before an open window, where the lightThrough vines of honeysuckle trembling beams,Crucè is standing. On her clasping handsHer little head is leaned. From window-vinesBy morning's breezes dropped, the blossoms redLie 'mong her ringlets black. Her large dark eyesAre gazing in the deep-blue sky beyond.
Corona and her father enter there,And gaze in silence on the stranger child.Some moments pass, and then she turns her head;Her sad eyes, shining with a loving light,Are fixed upon the father; and he comesAnd lays his hand in blessing on her head.Corona comes,—and, while the little form
