What matters,—if in heav'n or here!
Or in thy grave, or in thy bed!—
There's Quick might just as well be dead!
XVII.
Oh, how will thy departure cloud
The lamplight of the little breast!
The Christmas child will grieve aloud
To miss his broadest friend and best,—
Poor urchin! what avails to him
The cold New Monthly's Ghost of Grimm?