The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey :: :: University of Virginia Library

We three were loving friends!—a lowly life
Of humble peace, obscure content, we led:
Stealing away, withouten noise or strife,
Like some small streamlet in its mossy bed.

We had our joys in common—wisdom, wit,
And learned lore, had little share in those:
Thus, by the winter fire we used to sit,
Or in the summer evening's warm repose.

At our sweet bowery window, opening down
To the green grass, beneath the flowering lime,
When the deep curfew from the distant town
Came mellowed, like the voice of olden time;

And our grave neighbour, from the barn hard by,
The great grey owl, sailed out on soundless wings,
And the pale stars, like beams of memory,
Brightened as twilight veiled all earthly things.

'Twas then we used to sit, as pictured thus—
My pillow, as in childhood, still the same,

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Those venerable knees, and close to us,
Old Ranger, pressing oft his jealous claim.

And then I loved to feel that gentle hand
Laid like a blessing on my head—to hear
The “auld-warld” stories, ever at command,
By all but her forgotten many a year;

And then we talked together of the days
We both remembered—and of those who slept—
And the old dog looked up with wistful gaze,
As if he, too, that faithful record kept.

We three were loving friends!—now one is gone,
And one—poor feeble thing!—declineth fast;
And well I wot, the days are drawing on
Will find me here, the lonely and the last;

But not to tarry long; and when I go,
The stranger's hand will have dominion here,
And lay thy walls, my peaceful dwelling! low,
As my last lodging in the churchyard near,

1824.