In the journal of a Nashville citizen of that era, Mr. Matthew Delamere Cooper, the funeral of Colonel Earl is commemorated in a quaint and touching poem which he has entitled “The Burial,” in introducing which he says: “That the following lines may be understood it is necessary to mention that they were written on the occasion of the burial of Colonel Earl, a portrait painter of considerable eminence, for many years the intimate friend of General Jackson and long an inmate of the General’s house. He was followed to the grave by a few friends, amongst them the venerable hero, who did honor to his memory and consecrated the accumulating heap over his remains by a few tears that would not be represt. The man of iron soul, the hero of a hundred battles, wept over his departed friend! He was buried near a weeping willow and within a few feet of the cenotaph destined to receive the mortal remains of Andrew Jackson. (May it long be an empty tomb!!)” The Burial There was no gloomy pomp to strike the eye; There fell no toll of bell upon the ear. To where a new made grave was opened nigh, In silence slowly followed we the bier. And was he little valued, little known, Who reached obscurity thus life’s journey’s end? No, Art had made a brilliant name his own And him the hero honored as his friend. Yet in the latest office due the dead, To him without parade thus sadly done, Was he not honored much for whom was shed That old man’s tears, by veteran friendship won? How touching is such grief; who does not sigh To see the sorrow-stricken hero bend; The tear that mocks restraint, big in his eye, Falls on the gathering heap above his friend. Not the deep tolling of the solemn bell Or martial funeral pomp for fallen chief, Pall, long procession, pageant, all that tell The magnitude of a paraded grief; Not all were worth that solitary tear. One drop from such a fount would nerve the brave To court the deadliest danger without fear, So might such honor wait him at the grave. Hidden forever now, calm be thy sleep. The ground is hallowed where thy place is made. A spot all aftertimes shall sacred keep Sharer with it the weeping willow’s shade. And when to see where he, the great man, lies Hither hereafter pilgrim patriots come, Remembered shalt thou be, and tearful eyes Shall mark thy grave beside the hero’s tomb. * * * *