CRUCE AND CORONA.
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The missionary's eye is on it fixedBut for a moment; then upon CrucèIt glances recognition, and he cries,"My daughter, O my daughter!"
Morning dawnsUpon that lovely isle. Farewells are said.The spirit of Crucè in its new joySeems not to feel the burden of the cross.The parting words with recollections fraught,The sacred mem'ries of her childhood days,With tender sadness said, have less of griefThan "good-nights" that before have passed her lips.
Corona, with her ardent spirit thrilledWith bright anticipations, feels that joy,However deep or lofty it may be,On earth with sorrow oft walks side by side.
And now with sails unfurled the ship moves on,And soon the island fair is lost to view.Around them ocean spreads its vast domain,Whose bound'ries seem the far horizon's verge.
Corona and Crucè behold the sunDescend beneath the waters, with a mien
