VARIOUS POEMS
Trained from a cub, until she feared
The lash, and learned her round of tricks;
Always a traveller,—one of two
A woman-tamer took in hand,
Whipped them, coaxed them,—and so they grew
To fawn or cower at her command.
None but Florina—that was her name
And this the story of Hebe here—
Entered their cage; the brutes were tame
As kittens, though, their mistress near.
A tall, proud wench as ever was seen,
Supple and handsome, full of grace:
The world would bow to a real queen
That had Florina's form and face.
Her lover—for one she had, of course—
Was Marco, acrobat, circus-star,
The lightest foot on a running horse,
The surest leap from a swinging bar;
And she,—so jealous he dared not touch
A woman's hand, and, truth to say,
He had no humor to tease her much
Till a girl in spangles crossed their way.
'T was at Marseilles, the final scene:
This pretty rider joined the ring,
Ma'am'selle Celeste or Victorine,
And captured him under Florina's wing.
They hid their meetings, but when, you see,
Doubt holds the candle, love will show,
And in love's division the one of three,
Whose share is lessened, needs must know.
One night, then, after the throng outpoured
From the show, and the lions my Lady's power
442
