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LINES WRITTEN IN SICKNESS.

BY THOMAS CAMPBELL, ESQ.

Oh, Death! if there be quiet in thine arms,
And I must cease—gently, oh, gently come
To me! and let my soul learn no alarms,
But strike me, ere a shriek can echo, dumb,
Senseless, and breathless.—And thou, sickly life,
If the decree be writ, that I must die,
Do thou be guilty of no needless strife,
Nor pull me downwards to mortality,
When it were fitter I should take a flight—
But whither? Holy Pity, hear, oh hear!
And lift me to some far-off skyey sphere,
Where I may wander in celestial light:
Might it be so—then would my spirit fear
To quit the things I have so loved, when seen—
The air, the pleasant sun, the summer green—
Knowing how few would shed one kindly tear,
Or keep in mind that I had ever been?


THE SNOW.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE LEGEND OF GENEVIEVE," &c.

The snow! the snow!—'tis a pleasant thing
To watch it falling, falling
Down upon earth with noiseless wing,
As at some spirit's calling;