How sleep the Brave who sink to rest,
By all their Countrys wishes blest?
When Spring with dew'ey fingers cold
Returns to deck their Hallowed mould
She their shall Dress a sweeter Sod
Than fancys feet has ever trod
By fairy hands their knell is rung
By forms unseen their Dirge is sung
Their Honour comes a pilgrim grey
To bless the turf that wraps their Clay
And freedom shall a while repair
To dwell a weeping Hermit there --

I rejoice in the prospect of the plenty you inform me of, but cannot say we have the same agreable view here. The Drought is very severe, and things look but poorly.

Mr Rice & Thaxter unkle Quincy Col Quincy Mr Wibert all desire to be rememberd, so do all our family. Nabby will write by the next conveyance --

I must close, as the Deacon w[aits.] I have not pretended to be perticuliar with regard to what I have heard, because I know you will collect better intelligence -- The Spirits of the people are very good. The loss of Charlstown affects them no more than a Drop in the Bucket, --I am

Most sincerely yours
Portia                      

[On covering sheet] To John Adams Esqr. In Philadelphia