(Miss Kate Perry, Of Keokuk, Iowa)
A welcome back to her who went
Abroad for her own pleasure,
Yet generously sent her friends
An overflowing measure !
We grasp her hand with right good will,
While memory fondly lingers
Upon the pictures sketched for 'home'
By these same busy fingers.
The Rhine, in all its winding course,
Ne'er met a happier rover,
Nor Drusus, in his youthful prime,
A more adoring lover.
And this is why the rippling waves
In murmurs seemed to bless her,
While Drusus reached his shadowy arms,
Imploring, to caress her.
I wonder, on those moonlit nights,
When sky and stream were golden,
As she, a listener, heard entranced,
Some legend tender —olden,—
If her own voice went floating out
With all its wondrous power,
Awaking many an echoing tone
At that entrancing hour !
Did siren with the golden hair,
On distant heights appearing,
Still her soft notes of deep despair
And give attentive hearing ?
Did voyagers on passing barks,
Approaching late and early,
Drink in the sweet, bewildering strains
Of our own matchless Loreley ?
The prayer went up for heavenly care
Through storm and wave to bring her,
For scores of hearts have learned to love
Our sweet impassioned singer.
Her life has proved, in war and peace,
For dear ones fondly caring,
'The bravest are the tenderest,
The loving are the daring.'
Friends, read to her the parable
(She's read it oft unbidden)
Of talents graciously bestowed,—
Of one, too, that was hidden.
If 'good and faithful' she would prove,
Let not her gifts lie sleeping ;
Let Voice and Pen improve the trust
Confided to her keeping.
