HEBE
A splendid bronze for a showman's car,
And listless enough for bit and rein.
But Hebe is—just like all her sex—
Not good, then bad,—be sure of that:
In either case 't would a sage perplex
To make them out, both woman and cat.
A curious record, Hebe's. Reared
In Italy; age,—that's hard to fix;
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.
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