Then rest in southern seas.
The silken palms their branches wave
As soft as summer sails;
And drowsy winds, so passing fair,
With odors laden, strange and rare,
Blow soft o'er sunbright vales.
And nestling close 'mong shelt'ring hills
The bamboo huts are seen;
Like golden billows fall and rise
The seas of grain 'neath Indian skies,