IN MEMORIAM.

Tuapeka Times, Volume VII, Issue 331, 18 February 1874, Page 3

IN MEMORIAM.

DAVID LIVINGSTONE. Down many a giant stream, whose place of birth Lies hidden in the distance from, our ken, And from the nooks and corners of the earth, Where darkness shrouds the souls of savage men, A dirge steals softly on the breath of night, Which tells*us of a noble spirit fled To find the mystic scource of truth and light, And read the book that mortals have not readWhere shall we meet with courage true and . ♦ grand As that which stayed the brave old wanderer's heart? Home, pleasure, friendship, love, and native He left, to 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. Tlie tameless Berber reins liis steeiUfeto gaze With wandering pity on that tranquil face; The grateful Etheopian chants the praise Of him who brought " glad tidings " to his race When Livingstone is name.l, what fool shall dare To boast of war's red tyrants, robed in blood, Who sacrifice their serfs for vultures' fare. Who call it glory, to give ravens food ? When battle's trumpets sound, and banners stream, The m£d blood flies to the enthusiast's brain, And where the war-drums roll, and sabres gleam, His fiery spirit seeks the purple plain. Tbe yeoman, fenced within his narrow home, Bursts the old links and seeks for freer skies; Nor 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 j behind — j 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 marchel through trackless wilds and deserts drear. Although Death's footsteps dogged his every pace ; The cause he lived for shielded him 'gainst fear, His soul could meet the Spectre face to face. Array the Monarch's dust in pomp and pride, Whilst flatterers his doubtful virtues sing : A grander death this great old victor died Than England's boldest Duke or bravest King. No cultivated sigh, nor polished tear Bedecks-the couch whereon the hero sleeps ; A purer tribute falls upon bis bier, For lo ! above his corse the savage weeps.

Thomas Bkacxek,