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Updated: June 22, 2025
I pretended to have forgotten something in my room, and going to my Hebe's chamber I found her in a terrible state, choking with sobs. I pressed her to my breast, and mingled my tears with hers; and then laying her gently in her bed, and snatching a last kiss from her trembling lips, I tore myself away from a place full of such sweet and agonizing memories.
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come, and trip it as ye go On the light fantastic toe. . . . . . To hear the lark begin his flight, And singing startle the dull night, From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled dawn doth rise."
In Hero's, in Leander's heart, Thrills the sweet anguish of the dart Whose feather flies from love. All Hebe's bloom in Hero's cheek And his the hunter's steps that seek Delight, the hills above! Between their sires the rival feud Forbids their plighted hearts to meet; Love's fruits hang over danger's gulf, By danger made more sweet.
But as soon as she had unloosed the girl from the tree, and unbound her hands, instead of receiving thanks for what she had done, the wicked Florimel burst into a laugh, and suddenly snatching from the Princess Hebe's side her father's picture, which she always wore hanging in a ribbon, she ran away with it, as fast as she could, over the meadow.
"That is the philosopher's stone," said he. "And have you the elixir vita which generally accompanies it?" inquired I. "Even so; this urn is filled with it," he replied. "A draught would refresh you. Here is Hebe's cup; will you quaff a health from it?"
But she had a decent, honest face. She was not aware that she ought to be bright, welcoming, provocative, for a penny farthing an hour. She had never heard of Hebe. George thought of the long, desolating day that lay before her. He looked at her seriously. His eyes did not challenge hers as they were accustomed to challenge Hebe's.
It is true that the sun had somewhat embrowned the smooth cheek; but the stately throat and the rounded arms were admirably fair not, indeed, with the pale and dead whiteness which the Ionian women sought to obtain by art, but with the delicate rose-hue of Hebe's youth.
Like the youths in Comus, my unrazored lips in those days were as smooth as Hebe's, and I had a slenderness that was quite in keeping. Dressed in an old brocade gown, an heirloom from the century before, with a lofty white wig, and proper patches upon my pink cheeks, I essayed the rôle of une belle dame sans merci.
"I share the Emperor's delight in shooting, but I am no butcher, and do not need the royal relish of blood to my sport. And I do not share my ancestors' taste in statuary. Hence " Here Trefusis opened a drawer, took out a pistol, and fired at the Hebe in the farthest niche. "Well done!" said Erskine coolly, as the last fragment of Hebe's head crumbled at the touch of the bullet.
"You speak of the haughtiness and the stern repellent demeanor of our Hebe's sister.
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