140
CRUCE AND CORONA.
The rapture-waking fantasy is fled.Yet still methinks upon the maiden's faceI trace the strange resemblance. Canst thou tellAught more concerning that sad fate of thoseBy ocean storm wrecked on the far-off deep,And how this one was rescued? Ah! methinksThou calledst her Crucè, the selfsame nameThat to our child was given. Tell me, friend,What more thou knowest, and who named her thus."
And now is told how on that morning calmThe sailors heard afar the wailing cry,And, coming on the reef, within the caveBeheld the little child, and bore her hence.
A golden circlet round her neck was clasped,And on the clasp was grav'n her name, "Crucè;"The name the little one herself had lisped.
While all these words are uttered, stands Crucè,A calm and wondrous light within her eye,Like that perchance with which the prophets gazedWhen they beheld their prophecies fulfilled.And when the mother whispers to her low,She vanishes, but soon to reappear,The little golden circlet in her hand.
