Envoy--To Charles Baxter

Do you remember That afternoon--that Sunday afternoon! - When, as the kirks were ringing in, And the grey city teemed With Sabbath feelings and aspects, LEWIS--our LEWIS then, Now the whole world's--and you, Young, yet in shape most like an elder, came, Laden with BALZACS (Big, yellow books, quite impudently French), The first of many times To that transformed back-kitchen where I lay So long, so many centuries - Or years is it!--ago? Dear CHARLES, since then We have been friends, LEWIS and you and I, (How good it sounds, 'LEWIS and you and I!'): Such friends, I like to think, That in us three, LEWIS and me and you, Is something of that gallant dream Which old DUMAS--the generous, the humane, The seven-and-seventy times to be forgiven! - Dreamed for a blessing to the race, The immortal Musketeers. Our ATHOS rests--the wise, the kind, The liberal and august, his fault atoned, Rests in the crowded yard There at the west of Princes Street. We three - You, I, and LEWIS!--still afoot, Are still together, and our lives, In chime so long, may keep (God bless the thought!) Unjangled till the end.