One night this dreamer on his pallet lay;
His limbs were weary but he could not sleep;
He pondered o'er the hardships of the day,
How very sore it was to stoop and reap
When burning suns slow thro' the heavens creep;
To glean a living with unceasing toil,
While favored ones their slavish minions keep
To till for them the fructifying soil;—
Till with ungenerous rage our hero's blood did boil.