February 25th, 1893
No more that veteran figure shall we know,
Nor hear th’ industrious hammer rap and rap,
Nor see him fashion heel or mould the cap,
And set the beaded nails in shining row,
Nor watch the alder wood to fashion grow
By knife upon his leathern-aproned lap;
Death, that doth sometimes come with shoulder-tap,
Smote down the clogger with a cruel blow.
No more his hand will fill the village street
With music of the children’s pattering feet,
But they who follow where his footsteps trod
Will find that on the mountains never cease
His song of sweet preparedness and peace,
Who walked in simple piety with God.
(Valete: Tennyson and other Memorial Poems, p. 143)