Wise Nature would not let your eye
Look on her own bright majesty,
Which had you once but looked upon,
You could, except yourself, love none:
What then you can not love, let me,
That face I can, you can not see.

Now you have what to love, you'll say,
What is there left for me, I pray?
My face, sweet heart, if it please thee;
That which you can, I can not see:
So either love shall gain his due,
Yours sweet in me, and mine in you.

WILLIAM HABINGTON.

1605-1654.

CASTARA.

THE Castara of Habington's poetry was Lucia Herbert, the daughter of William Herbert, the first Lord Powis. By her mother's side she was related to the Percys of Northumberland, who traced their descent back to Charlemagne. Habington's family, though a good one, was not equal to hers, which may have been the reason why her father objected to him as a lover. For my Lord Powis did object, we learn, though Lady Eleanor, his wife, sympathized with the poet from the first. In a poetical epistle which he addressed to her ladyship, he compliments her on the clearness of her judgment of him, and proclaims the unselfishness of his love for her daughter:

"Would Castara were

The daughter of some mountaine cottager,
Who, with his toile worne out, could dying leave
Her no more dowre, than what she did receive
From bounteous nature. Her would I then lead
To th' temple, rich in her own wealth; her head
Crown'd with her haire's faire treasure; diamonds in
Her brighter eyes; soft ermines in her skin;
Each Indie in her cheeke. Then all who vaunt
That Fortune, them t'enrich, made others want,

Should set themselves out glorious in her stealth,
And trie if that could parallel this wealth.”

He also addressed an epistle to Lord Powis, but it was after his marriage with Castara. "The holy lights," he says,

The date of Habington's marriage is not mentioned, but from a note to one of his poems in the second part of "CASTARA," which part, by the way, is christened The Wife, I should say it took place in or before 1630, his twenty-fifth year. Of his married life, indeed of his life generally, nothing is known, except that it was passed in retirement at the family manor in Hendlip. Devoted to his wife and his books, the contentions of the time swept by, and left him unharmed. In the words of Langhaine, "he was a gentleman who lived in the civil wars, and, slighting Bellona, gave himself entirely to the Muses." His poems were published in 1634.

TO CASTARA.

A SACRIFICE.

Let the chaste Phoenix, from the flowery East,
Bring the sweet treasure of her perfumed nest,
As incense to this altar, where the name
Of my Castara's graved by th' hand of Fame:
Let purer virgins, to redeem the air

From loose infection, bring their zealous prayer,
T'assist at this great feast, where they shall see,
What rites Love offers up to Chastity.
Let all the amorous youth, whose fair desire
Felt never warmth but from a noble fire,

Bring hither their bright flames, which here shall shine
As tapers fixed about Castara's shrine.

While I, the priest, my untamed heart surprise,
And in this temple make 't her sacrifice.

TO CASTARA.

INTENDING A JOURNEY INTO THE COUNTRY.

Why haste you hence, Castara? Can the Earth,
A glorious mother, in her flowery birth,
Show lilies like thy brow? Can she disclose
In emulation of thy cheeks, a rose,

Sweet as thy blush? Upon thyself then set
Just value, and scorn it thy counterfeit.

The Spring's still with thee; but perhaps the field,
Not warmed with thy approach, wants force to yield
Her tribute to the plough. O rather let
Th' ungrateful Earth forever be in debt

To th' hope of sweating Industry, than we

Should starve with cold, who have no heat but thee.
Nor fear the public good; thy eyes can give

A life to all, who can deserve to live.

TO THE SPRING.

ON THE UNCERTAINTY OF CASTARA'S ABODE.

Fair mistress of the Earth, with garlands crowned,
Rise, by a lover's charm, from the parched ground,
And show thy flowery wealth, that she, where'er
Her stars shall guide her, meet thy beauties there.
Should she to the cold northern climates go,
Force thy affrighted lilies there to grow,
The roses in those gelid fields t' appear;
She absent, I have all their winter here.

Or if to th' torrid zone her way she bend,

Her the cool breathing of Favonius lend.

Thither command the birds to bring their choirs;

That zone is temperate, I have all his fires.

Attend her, courteous Spring, though we should here
Lose by it all the treasures of the year.

TO CASTARA.

UPON THE DISGUISING HIS AFFECTION.

Pronounce me guilty of a blacker crime,
Than e'er, in the large volume writ by Time,

The sad historian reads, if not my art

Dissembles love, to veil an amorous heart.

For when the zealous anger of my friend
Checks my unusual sadness, I pretend

To study virtue, which indeed I do;

He must court virtue, who aspires to you. -
Or that some friend is dead, and then a tear,
A sigh, or groan steals from me; for I fear

Lest death with love hath struck my heart, and all
These sorrows usher but its funeral:

Which should revive, should there you a mourner be,
And force a nuptial in an obsequy.

TO SEYMORS.

THE HOUSE IN WHICH CASTARA LIVED.

Blest temple, hail! where the chaste altar stands,
Which Nature built, but the exacter hands
Of Virtue polished. Though sad fate deny
My profane feet access, my vows shall fly.
May those musicians, which divide the air
With their harmonious breath, their flight prepare
For this glad place, and all their accents frame,
To teach the echoes my Castara's name.

The beauteous troops of Graces, led by Love
In chaste attempts, possess the neighboring grove,
Where may the Spring dwell still. May every tree
Turn to a laurel, and prophetic be,

Which shall in its first oracle divine

That courteous Fate decrees Castara mine.

TO CASTARA.

DEPARTING UPON THE APPROACH OF NIGHT.

What should we fear, Castara? The cool air,
That's fallen in love, and wantons in thy hair,
Will not betray our whispers. Should I steal