CRUCE AND CORONA.
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Appear to greet the gazers' anxious sight;A night of tempests on the lonely deep.Each moment dangers new throng round the crew.At last the ship, long tossed upon the waves,Spurns all control of human will and pow'r.All useless now, the sailors' courage fails;The ship's commander, confidence all lost,Stands mute, despairing, gazing on the crew.
The father of Crucè to Heaven liftsA pray'r; but not of piteous distressOr anxious fear; but that the Mighty OneWho holds the waters in his hand will stayThe tempests, if his glory thus be wrought;If not, from raging storms receive their soulsTo the unruffled calm of Heaven's peace.
The pray'r is answered. And when morning dawns,The sun in majesty its clear, broad beamsIs flashing o'er the ocean's tranquil waves.
All hail! Italia's genius-haunted land,Whose skies drop inspiration; where the soulsOf great departed ones still live and glowIn their ideas, o'er which time and deathAre ever pow'rless; and which still do speakThrough silent marble their sublimity,
