Page:Livingstone in Africa.djvu/138

But all fair colours of the many nations
In harbour, flying low from many a mast,
And minute guns, and muffled voice of bells,
With reverent silence of assembling throngs,
And mourning emblems in the public ways,
Mournfully tell of how the hero comes!

Now yet a little further carry him.
Westminster opens wide her ancient doors
For more illustrious dust to enter in.
Honour the noble Scottish weaver-boy,
The lowly-born illustrious Livingstone!
With solemn music we will leave him here,
Among the ashes of our mighty fallen.
Behold! world-honour'd Shades that haunt the fane,
Statesman, or monarch, poet, soldier, sage—
The while he moves along their awful line
To his own hallow'd English sepulchre;
From yon far forest of lone Muilala
Moves to more glorious glooms of Westminster—
Bend in a grand reverent humility