What wailing was there when his spirit fled,
How mourned his lady for her lord when dead,
And tears abundant through the town were shed;
See! he was liberal, kind, religious, wise,
And free from all disgrace and all disguise;
His sterling worth, which words cannot express,
Lives with his friends, their pride and their distress. 
   All this of Jacob Holmes? for his the name: 
He thus kind, liberal, just, religious?—­Shame! 
What is the truth?  Old Jacob married thrice;
He dealt in coals, and av’rice was his vice;
He ruled the Borough when his year came on,
And some forget, and some are glad he’s gone;
For never yet with shilling could he part,
But when it left his hand it struck his heart. 
   Yet, here will Love its last attentions pay,
And place memorials on these beds of clay;
Large level stones lie flat upon the grave,
And half a century’s sun and tempest brave;
But many an honest tear and heartfelt sigh
Have follow’d those who now unnoticed lie;
Of these what numbers rest on every side! 
Without one token left by grief or pride;
Their graves soon levell’d to the earth, and then
Will other hillocks rise o’er other men;
Daily the dead on the decay’d are thrust,
And generations follow, “dust to dust.” 
   Yes! there are real Mourners—­I have seen
A fair, sad Girl, mild, suffering, and serene;
Attention (through the day) her duties claim’d,
And to be useful as resign’d she aim’d: 
Neatly she dress’d, nor vainly seem’d t’expect
Pity for grief, or pardon for neglect;
But when her wearied parents sunk to sleep,
She sought her place to meditate and weep: 
Then to her mind was all the past display’d,
That faithful Memory brings to Sorrow’s aid;
For then she thought on one regretted Youth,
Her tender trust, and his unquestioned truth;
In ev’ry place she wander’d, where they’d been,
And sadly sacred held the parting scene;
Where last for sea he took his leave—­that place
With double interest would she nightly trace;
For long the courtship was, and he would say,
Each time he sail’d,—­“This once, and then the day: 
Yet prudence tarried, but when last he went,
He drew from pitying love a full consent. 
   Happy he sail’d, and great the care she took
That he should softly sleep and smartly look;
White was his better linen, and his check
Was made more trim than any on the deck;
And every comfort men at sea can know
Was hers to buy, to make, and to bestow? 
For he to Greenland sail’d, and much she told
How he should guard against the climate’s cold;
Yet saw not danger; dangers he’d withstood,
Nor could she trace the fever in his blood: 
His messmates smiled at flushings in his cheek,
And he too smiled, but seldom would he speak;
For now he found the danger, felt the pain,
With grievous symptoms he could not explain;
Hope was awaken’d, as for home he sail’d,