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58
JAMES YOUNG.
Thus we suck, and gaze, and swill,
Till our reddening bodies fill;
Wing we then our lazy flight.
Snug to roost on giddy height.
Shelf, or book-case, or almirah's
Top. No rest for him! our virus
Quick ferments! each festering sore
Seems a voice, cries 'Sleep no more!
Gnats have murdered sleep (that knits up
Ravelled sleeve of care!')—He sits up
Startled,—scarce awake,—head bursting,—
—Itching,—scratching,—smarting,—thirsting;—
Curses deep, and loud, and long,
Yet unsated, chaunt their song.
Oh the pleasures of the plains
In Bengal, and in the Rains!
