CRUCE AND CORONA.
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A man of noble bearing, on whose browLong, earnest.thought hath left its traces deep,With gray his dark locks silvered lightly o'er.Corona's father greets him. To his wordsOf courteous inquiry, then repliesAre by the stranger giv'n. To his homeThe missionary wends with him his way.They enter at the nightfall. Lights withinThe rooms illumine. To the stranger guestCorona's mother doth her welcome give.When hours have flown in Christian converse passed,She saith, "I'll bid Corona and CrucèCome join our number."Quickly at her callThey enter; and the father, rising, says,"My Christian friend, these are the youthful onesWho on the morrow in thy vessel sail."With loving admiration then he says,"This one, Corona, who at Art's fair shrineTo worship to Italia's land doth go.And this my sad-eyed lonely one, Crucè:Long years ago a noble vessel sailedAt eve within our harbor, bringing her,A little one, just rescued on that mornFrom rocks o'er reef all strewn with ocean wrecks.The stranger entertaining, I have foundThe presence of an angel unawares."
