 | The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey |  |
FAREWELL TO MY FRIENDS.
Oh, wear no mourning weeds for me,
When I am laid i' the ground!
Oh, shed no tears for one whose sleep
Will then be sweet and sound!
When I am laid i' the ground!
Oh, shed no tears for one whose sleep
Will then be sweet and sound!
Only, my friends, do this for me,—
Pluck many a pale primrose,
And strew them on my shroud, before
The coffin-lid they close.
Pluck many a pale primrose,
And strew them on my shroud, before
The coffin-lid they close.
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And lay the heart's-ease on my breast—
Meet emblem there 'twill be—
And gently place in my cold hand
A sprig of rosemary.
Meet emblem there 'twill be—
And gently place in my cold hand
A sprig of rosemary.
And by the buried bones of those
Whom living I loved best,
See me at last laid quietly,
Then leave me to my rest.
Whom living I loved best,
See me at last laid quietly,
Then leave me to my rest.
And when the church-bell tolls for me
Its last, long, hollow knell,
As the deep murmur dies away,
Bid me a kind farewell.
Its last, long, hollow knell,
As the deep murmur dies away,
Bid me a kind farewell.
And, stay!—Methinks there's something yet
I'd fain request of thee—
Something I'd bid ye comfort, keep,
Or love, for love of me.
I'd fain request of thee—
Something I'd bid ye comfort, keep,
Or love, for love of me.
My nurse!—Oh, she will only wait
Till I am fast asleep,
Then close beside me, stealthily,
To her own pillow creep.
Till I am fast asleep,
Then close beside me, stealthily,
To her own pillow creep.
My dog!—Poor fellow! let him not
Know hunger, hardship, wrong:
But he is old and feeble too—
He will not miss me long.
Know hunger, hardship, wrong:
But he is old and feeble too—
He will not miss me long.
My dwelling!—That will pass away
To those, when I am gone,
Will raze the lowly edifice
To its foundation-stone.
To those, when I am gone,
Will raze the lowly edifice
To its foundation-stone.
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My flowers!—That in deep loneliness
Have been as friends to me.
My garden!—That, let run to waste,
A common field will be.
Have been as friends to me.
My garden!—That, let run to waste,
A common field will be.
My picture!—That's already yours—
Resemblance true, ye say:
Oh, true indeed! A thing of dust,
That vanisheth away!
Resemblance true, ye say:
Oh, true indeed! A thing of dust,
That vanisheth away!
My harp!—But that's a fairy gift
I can bequeath to none.
Unearthly hands will take it back
When the last strain is done.
I can bequeath to none.
Unearthly hands will take it back
When the last strain is done.
So, then, I've nothing more to ask,
And little left to give;
And yet I know in your kind hearts
My memory will live.
And little left to give;
And yet I know in your kind hearts
My memory will live.
And so farewell, my dear good friends!
And farewell, world, to thee!
I part with some in love—with all
In peace and charity.
And farewell, world, to thee!
I part with some in love—with all
In peace and charity.
| The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey | |