On morning of the 22d inst. after a lingering illness, William Rhodes, in the 86th year of age; leaving a wife and a large number of relations and friends to lament his loss. Mr. Rhodes was a soldier of the Virginia line on the Continental establishment-through the whole of the Revolutionary War. He was a man, in early life, of uncommon athletic powers; and in the course of his services if my memory serves me. (having received the facts from himself,) he received five severe wounds; by which he was so far disabled, that, for the last 8 or 10 years, he received small pettance from the bounty of his country, which served to smoothe his declining years. His remains were intered in this place on the 23d, with military honors, by Capt. Ambrozene's company of volunteers, in the presence of a large concourse of citizens and strangers. The following next address was spoken by Gen. Vance, at the time of the interment of Mr. Rhode's body.
--Fellow citizens, and brother soldiers-- You have this day been called upon to pay the last tribute of respect to a departed solder of the Revolutionary Army: one who had not merely the honor of having his name enrolled amongst that band of patriots and worthis, but one whose blood crimsoned the snows of Trenton, the fields of Princeton, and the battlements of Stony Point. Venerable man! Why didst thou not pay the debt of nature on the walls of York-Town, where the measure of thy glory was complete, and whence thy name would have have been, by faithful history handed down to posterity, as one of the martyrs whose lives were offered us for the liberties of their country! Yes, there thou wouldst have had the sympathetic tear of your beloved commander, the Father of his country, to have smoothed thy passage to the Eternal World! But why compain? Are not thy service deeplytengraven on the hearts of posterity? And notwithstanding thy mortal remains shall inhabit the cold confines of that vaulted clay, yet thy name shall live in the hearts of thy countrymen, a mausoleum that will be more lasting than monumental brass. Under our present feeling, must we not with the poet exclaim.--
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In death's terrific, icy arms,
Lo! the illustrious soldier lies;
He's free from care and war's alarms,
Nor sees our tears nor hears our sighs.
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old is the heart where valor reign'd;
Mute the tonge that joy inspir'd;
Still the arm that conquest gain'd,
And dim the eye that glory fir'd.
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Too mean for him a world like this.
He's landed on that happy shore
Where all the saints partake of bliss,
And heroes meet to part no more.