CRUCE AND CORONA.
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Now quickly lifted, with an earnest gazeAre bent upon the speaker. For these wordsIn thought transport her to a lonely cot'Mong moss-grown rocks, where, kneeling, on her earIn dying accents falls her teacher's pray'r,"In her remembrance may she ever keepThis truth, that through the cross the crown is won."
And is it fancy that Corona nowDoth trace resemblance in the stranger's faceTo that of him who breathed that dying pray'r?For such resemblance doth there seem. And nowShe tells him of her own far island home;Her days of childhood and of youth there spent;Of him who in that Sabbath sunset hourSo peacefully to heaven passed; then says,"Perchance it is thy brother, O my friend!Above whose grave, when each returning yearDoth bring again that Sabbath sunset hour,The islanders, with reverential love,Strew amaranthine blossoms, and entwineHis monument with ever-verdant sprays.'Tis thus, I've heard, they outwardly evinceThe memories of him they keep within.
But few are they upon that isle who knowHis early history. Yet, shouldst thou choose
