Andy looks back from the grave at the nights he spent guarding Spoon River. Wrapped in a Spanish cloak and felt overshoes, with his dog Tyke and a bull’s-eye lantern, he patrolled the quiet square while the town slept. The world he remembers is still and slightly eerie: stars turning overhead, the steeple bell murmuring in the wind, old Doc Hill’s tired footsteps sounding like a sleepwalker’s, a rooster crowing far off. There is loneliness in the job, but also a calm sense of purpose. Now someone else keeps watch, and Andy lies beside Doc Hill in the cemetery. The final lines carry a gentle irony: in death there is nothing left to steal, nothing to protect, and no need for a guard at all. The mood is wistful, peaceful, and touched by acceptance.
Andy the Night-Watch — Summary
In my Spanish cloak, And old slouch hat, And overshoes of felt, And Tyke, my faithful dog, And my knotted hickory cane, I slipped about with a bull’s-eye lantern From door to door on the square, As the midnight stars wheeled round, And the bell in the steeple murmured From the blowing of the wind; And the weary steps of old Doc Hill Sounded like one who walks in sleep, And a far-off rooster crew. And now another is watching Spoon River As others watched before me. And here we lie, Doc Hill and I Where none breaks through and steals, And no eye needs to guard.