Is it a friend who is painted here,
Rugged of feature, and homely of dress?
Did he inspire such a leal souvenir,
All those years back on the banks of the Lesse?
Was he a friend as a friend should be,
Loyal alike in praise, and in blame;
Prone to be silent, yet prompt to foresee
Every call upon friendship's name?
Was he so steadfast that no one could e'er,
E'en for a moment, his constancy doubt?
Honest and faithful, so just and so fair,
His whisper meant more than another man's shout?
It was ages ago, and mankind, we are told,
Has since become selfish, and hard, and austere;
Yet I think it were strange, if 'twixt friends, new and old,
We did not own, too, just one leal souvenir!
