Gone all remembrance of the anguish’d strain
’Neath kicks and blows, and ’neath the scorching glare
Of torrid skies above the hillside bare,
And of the toil that ever comes again.
His banquet ended, calmly he digests,
While o’er him sweeps a most divine repose:
Faintly in dreams his memory suggests
Long lost repasts, whereat his dark eye glows;
Thus, bathed in vague nostalgia, he rests,
While through the bush the sunset tremor flows.