The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend. - Lord Byron

I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one:

Yet I did love thee to the last,
As ferverently as thou,
Who didst not change through all the past,
And canst not alter now.

There rose no day there rolled no hour
Of pleasure unembittered;
And not a trapping decked my Power
That galled not while it glittered.