Scarce cooled from midday heat Sparkles the summer night; O’er sinful earth a threatening cloud Trembles, with lightnings bright. Heaven’s sleepy eyelids ope, And through each distant gleam, The threatening orbs of One above O’er earth to kindle seem. _THE SPRING STORM._ I love the storm in early May, When spring’s first maiden thunder peals, And, laughing in its frolic play, Across the blue sky softly steals. The little rumblings roll and ring; The rain-shower glistens; flies the dust; The rain-drop pearls in clusters cling, And golden gleams the fields encrust. From hillside headlong speeds the rill, In groves the birds keep twittering, And chattering wood and murmuring hill Echo with joy the thundering. PRINCE VYAZEMSKI. _THE TROIKA._[12] Speeds the troika, leaping, bounding, ’Neath the horsehoofs dust-clouds fly, While the little bells keep tinkling, Weeping, laughing merrily. _Chorus._ Speed I, speed I, speed I to her Speed I to my well-beloved! Down the road, with glad notes ringing, Echoes wide the joyous peal; Now afar they jingle clearly, Nor in muffled notes they steal. _Chorus._ Sails the moon from out the cloudlets; Full reveals her luminous ring; And a rippling gleam of silver O’er the traveller’s face doth fling. _Chorus._ Who and whence this nightly traveller? Is his distant journey done? For his own or other’s pleasure Speeds he through the dark alone? _Chorus._ Who can tell! He still is far off; Plunged in cloud the moonbeams sweep, While afar on distant moorland Little bells are lulled to sleep. _Chorus._ FOOTNOTES: [12] Sledge or car with three horses harnessed abreast. FROM LEBEDEF. _THEODORA._ “So thou art he who yesterday Didst round the arena roam-- Thy rivals scourge? thy chariot smoked, Reeking with bloody foam. “Now thou art mine! Upon this couch Recline and yield to me, Until the morning’s rosy light My palace windows see.” “Ah, Theodora, ne’er before Have I thy threshold passed; Thy cups of gold amaze my sight, Thy fretted ceilings vast. “Yet I know all. Through our stern land The talk of thee has sped; How every night a new Elect Appears beside this bed. “How, till the dawn, with burning kiss The lips of lovers sting; While to the folds of Eastern stuffs The Eastern odours cling. “But I, a simple country clown, A common clod, who sport In games with Death, am all unused To splendours of a Court. “Thy pardon! But it seems to me That burning Lust doth stream In this blue odour’s upward curl, From yon bright marble’s gleam.