The Portland Gazette

POETRY.

FROM THE PROVIDENCE GAZETTE.

OLD GRIMES

Tune—'John Gilpin was a citizen.'

OLD Grimes is dead. That good old man
We ne'er shall see more.
He used to wear a long black coat
All buttoned down before.

His heart was open as the day;
His feelings all were true;
His hair was some inclined to grey—
He wore it in a queue.

Whene'er was heard the voice of pain,
His breast with pity burned;
The large, round head upon his cane
From ivory was turned.

Thus, ever prompt at pity's call,
He knew no base design;
His eyes were dark, and rather small;
His nose was aquiline.

He lived at peace with all mankind,
In friendship he was true;
His coat had pocket-holes behind,
His pantaloons were blue.

Unharmed—the sin which earth pollutes
He passed securely o'er;
And never wore a pair of boots
For thirty years, or more.

But poor old Grimes is now at rest,
Nor fears misfortune's frown;
He had a double-breasted vest—
The stripes ran up and down.

He modest merit sought to find,
And pay it its desert.
He had no malice in his mind;
No ruffles on his shirt.

His neighbours he did not abuse;
Was sociable and gay.
He wore large buckles in his shoes,
And changed them every day.

His knowledge, hid from public gaze,
He did not bring in view;
Nor make a noise town-meeting days,
As many people do.

His worldly goods he never threw
In trust to fortune's chances;
But lived (as all his brothers do)
In easy circumstances.

Thus undisturbed by anxious cares,
His peaceful moments ran;
And every body said he was
A fine old gentleman.

Good people all, with cheerful thought,
To Grimes' memory;
As doth his cousin, ESEK SHORT,
Who made this poetry.