DAVID LESTER RICHARDSON.
Lines to the Memory of David Hare.
O'er the vast waste of waters—from a land
Small but renowned—a proud undaunted band,
Stirred with the thirst of conquest and of gold.
Came—traded—triumphed! History never told
Of monarch-merchants—heroes wandering far—
A stranger tale of traffic or of war.
But can the busy mart, the battle field,
The dearest wealth—the brightest triumph yield?
Ah! no: e'en now our generous rulers claim
A prouder guerdon and a purer fame.
Though gold was gained and martial glory won,
They knew their noblest task was not begun.
They held our lands, but could not hold our hearts.
Till, changing force for kindness, arms for arts,
They proffered the rich wisdom of the west.
And poorest minds with priceless treasures blest!
In this divinest duty many a heart.
With holy zeal, hath well sustained its part—
All these our guides—an honour to their land—
To ours a blessing—grateful love command;
But in the glorious list, beyond compare,
In types of light, behold the name of HARE!
Ah, warm philanthropist! ah, faithful friend!
Thy life devoted to one generous end—
To bless the Hindu mind with British lore,
And truth's and nature's faded lights restore—