IN his bronze face a something sombre shows, Perhaps the effect of distances that spread In oceans of pure verdure round his shed. Toiling he marks his furrow holdings close; Beneath his kindly hand his harvest grows; He breaks his foal and bits him where he fed Upon the plain; and by some trifle led, Plunges in midstream where the torrent flows. A single blow and a great bull lies low; Across the thicket his @3machete@1 tears, And so to love with singing does he go; For love of woman on his spirit acts, And on his savage nature radiance bears, Like some light rainbow o'er the cataracts. |