Note.—­The Hesperides, in Grecian mythology, were four sisters (some traditions say three, and others, seven) who guarded the golden apples given to Juno as a wedding present.  The locality of the garden of the Hesperides is a disputed point with mythologists.

[Illustration:  A well-dressed man is reaching for a glove while facing three ferocious lions.  Several people are observing him from the safety of a raised platform.]

LXXXVIII.  THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS. (321)

James Henry Leigh Hunt, 1784-1859.  Leigh Hunt, as he is commonly called, was prominent before the public for fifty years as “a writer of essays, poems, plays, novels, and criticisms.”  He was born at Southgate, Middlesex, England.  His mother was an American lady.  He began to write for the public at a very early age.  In 1808, In connection with his brother, he established “The Examiner,” a newspaper advocating liberal opinions in politics.  For certain articles offensive to the government, the brothers were fined 500 Pounds each and condemned to two years’ imprisonment.  Leigh fitted up his prison like a boudoir, received his friends here, and wrote several works during his confinement.  Mr. Hunt was intimate with Byron, Shelley, Moore, and Keats, and was associated with Byron and Shelley in the publication of a political and literary journal.  His last years were peacefully devoted to literature, and in 1847 he received a pension from the government. ###

King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport,
And one day, as his lions fought, sat looking on the court;
The nobles filled the benches round, the ladies by their side,
And ’mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he sighed: 
And truly ’t was a gallant thing to see that crowning show,
Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below.

Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws;
They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws;
With wallowing might and stifled roar, they rolled on one another: 
Till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a thunderous smother;
The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing through the air: 
Said Francis, then, “Faith, gentlemen, we’re better here than there.”

De Lorge’s love o’erheard the king,—­a beauteous, lively dame,
With smiling lips, and sharp, bright eyes, which always seemed the same;
She thought, “The Count, my lover, is brave as brave call be,
He surely would do wondrous things to show his love for me;
King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine;
I’ll drop my glove to prove his love; great glory will be mine.”

She dropped her glove to prove his love, then looked at him and smiled;
He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild;
The leap was quick, return was quick, he soon regained his place,
Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady’s face. 
“In faith,” cried Francis, “rightly done!” and he rose from where he sat;
“No love,” quoth he, “but vanity, sets love a task like that.”