A sketch of the life and services of Gen. Otho Holland Williams Part 2

And now the light which he created and shed around him, was to be withdrawn from those who looked as upon the rainbow's glories after a stormy day; for just as they were encircled by its arch of splendor, in radiant promise of sunny skies, they beheld its brilliant hues melting into air, as the luminary whence they emanated sunk solemnly from their sight. In the next year, 1794, while on his way to the Sweet Springs, in Virginia, on reaching the little town of Woodstock, he became too ill to proceed farther, and on the 16th of July, at the early age of 45, he died. He was prepared; he had lived the full measure of his fame; his life had been glorious and happy; he had shrunk from no responsibility; he had feared nothing but to do wrong; he had gained "honor, love, obedience, troops of friends," and when at last he met the unconquerable foe, it was with the same calm courage and reliance on a higher power, that had been his trust when he had rushed into mortal battle.

He left an ample fortune to his four sons, and committed them to their mother's father, saying in his will, that he could do so with entire trust, "as soon as it should please Heaven to remove him from that endearing office." In the eloquent language of the Spaniard, himself a soldier as well as a poet,

"As thus the dying warrior prayed, Without one gathering mist or shade Upon his mind; Encircled by his family, Watched by affection's gentle eye So soft and kind--

"His soul to him who gave it, rose: G.o.d lead it to its long repose, Its glorious rest!

And though the warrior's sun is set, Its light shall linger round us yet, Bright, radiant, blest."

On the banks of the lordly Potomac his remains repose, beneath a simple monument crowning the summit of a hill, overlooking a wild expanse of waving woods and pleasant fields, and distant mountains, which he once delighted to look upon. The setting sun sheds its glories over that peaceful landscape; the river flows calmly by many a pleasant village, by the marble palaces of the busy Metropolis, and by the tomb of him who has given it his name. Heroes, patriots and friends, both sleep by the same river; both firm in love of peace but hatred of tyranny, and both spared to be cheered by the smiles of their country, whose battles they had fought while she pined in fetters and in tears.