FROM LEBEDEF.

“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. “Nay, Theodora, let me go! And keep thy whim’s reward For nobles of the Bosphorus! For slaves——” “Enough! Ho, Guard!”