All with that broad free force, whose fascination
All felt, and artists most, that dexterous sleight
Which gave our land the unchallenged consummation
Of graphic mastery in Black-and-White.

Pleasant to dwell on, and a proud possession,
Now the tired hand that shaped that world is still,
Leaving an ineffaceable impression
Upon the age that fired its force and skill.

Honoured abroad as loved at home, how ample,
The tribute to that modest spirit paid!
To pushing quackery a high example,
A calm rebuke to egotist parade!

Frank, loyal, unobtrusive, simple-hearted,
Loving his book, his pipe, his song, his friend,
Peaceful he lived and peacefully departed,
A gentle life-course, with a gracious end.

Irreparable loss to Art, deep sorrow
To those his comrades, who so loved the man,
And who had hoped for many a sunny morrow
To greet that gallant spirit in the van.

That tall, spare form, that curl-crowned head, the knitting
Of supple hands behind it as he sat,
That quaint face-wrinkling smile like sunshine flitting,
The droll, dry comment, the quotation pat;