In Memoriam.

Evening Star, Issue 3421, 7 February 1874, Page 2

In Memoriam.

DAVID; LIVINGSTONE. W birth iny a ffiant stream, whose place of a i n the distance from our ken, no °ks and corners of the earth, Where darkness shrouds the souls of savage men, ° ‘SfrV^ ea } s * oftl y on the breath of night, Which teds us of a noble spirit fled io hnd the mystic source of truth and light And read the book that mortals have not read. Where shall we meet with courage true and grand As that which stayed the brave old wanderer’s heart ? Home, pleasure, friendship, love, and native land Ho left, sto trace the world’s mysterious chart. Adown the valleys where Zambesi runs— Along the Nile, and by Nyassa’s lake, To Earth’s degraded and benighted sons He brought the peaceful words which Jesus spake. The tameless Berber reins his steed to gaze " ith wandering pity on that tranquil face : The grateful Etheopian chants the praise Of him who brought “glad tidings” to his race. When Livingstone is named, what fool shall dare . To boast of war’s red tyrants, robed in blood, Who sacrifice their serfs for vultures’ fare, * " ca N glory, to give ravens food ? When battle s trumpets sound, and banners stream, a l ? flies to the enthusiast’s brain, And where the war-drums roll, and sabres gleam, His fiery spirit seeks the purple plain. The yeoman, fenced within his narrow home, Bursts the old links and seeks for freer skies : jN or fears to cross the ever-shifting foam, Hope tells his heart he goes to win a prize. But this great man left all wealth’s gifts behind— Ease could not bind him to his native shore : His bosom glowed to benefit his kind, To bear off knowledge and return with more. He marched through trackless wilds and deserts drear, Although Death’s footsteps dogged his every pace ; Tim cause he lived for shielded him ’gainst fear, His soul could meet the Spectre face to face. ■ onarc b’s dust in pomp and pride, Whilst flatterers his doubtful virtues sing; A grander death this great old victor died ihan England’s boldest Duke or bravest King. Ne cultivated sigh, nor polished tear Bedecks the couch whereon the hero sleeps; A purer tribute falls upon his bier, 1) or lo! above his corse the savage weeps, _ , Thomas Bracken. February 6.