Park left behind him three sons and a daughter. Mungo, the eldest, became
an assistant-surgeon in India, and soon after died. Thomas, the second,
resembled his father both in appearance and disposition, and early
cherished the intention of obtaining certain information as to his
father's fate. He was a midshipman on board the Sybille; and having
obtained permission from the Lords of the Admiralty, set out on an
expedition into the interior. He landed at Acra in June 1827; but arrived
there only to die. Archibald, the youngest son, is a lieutenant in the
Bengal service. Park's daughter is the wife of Henry Wetter Meredith,
Esq. of Pentry-Bichen, Denbighshire. Park's widow is still living.
The following beautiful tribute to Mungo Park's memory appeared in
Blackwood's Magazine: -
_The Negro's Lament for Mungo Park_.
1.
Where the wild Joliba
Rolls his deep waters,
Sate at their evening toil
Afric's dark daughters:
Where the thick mangroves
Broad shadows were flinging,
Each o'er her lone loom
Bent mournfully singing -
"Alas! for the white man! o'er deserts a ranger,
No more shall we welcome the white-bosomed stranger!
2.
"Through the deep forest
Fierce lions are prowling;
'Mid thickets entangling,
Hyenas are howling;
There should he wander,
Where danger lurks ever;
To his home, where the sun sets,
Return shall he never.
Alas! for the white man! o'er deserts a ranger,
No more shall we welcome the white-bosomed stranger!
3.
"The hands of the Moor
In his wrath do they bind him?
Oh! sealed is his doom
If the savage Moor find him.
More fierce than hyenas,
Through darkness advancing,
Is the curse of the Moor,
And his eyes fiery glancing!
Alas! for the white man! o'er deserts a ranger,
No more shall we welcome the white-bosomed stranger!
4.
"A voice from the desert!
My wilds do not hold him;
Pale thirst doth not rack,
Nor the sand-storm enfold him.
The death-gale pass'd by
And his breath failed to smother,
Yet ne'er shall he wake
To the voice of his mother
Alas! for the white man! o'er deserts a ranger,
No more shall we welcome the white-bosomed stranger!
5.
"O loved of the lotus
Thy waters adorning,
Pour, Joliba! pour
Thy full streams to the morning?
The halcyon may fly
To thy wave as her pillow;
But wo to the white man
Who trusts to thy billow!
Alas! for the white man! o'er deserts a ranger,
No more shall we welcome the white-bosomed stranger!
6.
"He launched his light bark,
Our fond warnings despising,
And sailed to the land
Where the day-beams are rising.
His wife from her bower
May look forth in her sorrow,
But he shall ne'er come
To her hope of to-morrow!
Alas!
