He pulls the alarm bell
At slightest excuse--
And down to thy grave
Will pursue with abuse.

Self defence nothing boots thee,
Thy flight he will worst--
To earth he will tread thee,
O Gossip be cursed!

NIKITIN.




IN A PEASANT HUT

Sultry dampness--pine chips smoking,
Off-scourings a span length,
In the corners webs of spiders,
Smut on dish and bench.

Sooty black the bare wall, crock stained,
Water--dry hard bread;
Groanings, coughings, children's whimper,
Wretched bitter need!

And a beggar's death for years of
Harshest drudgery--