The Romance of Biography Volume II Part 8

Among Donne's earlier poetry may be distinguished the following little song, which has so much more harmony and elegance than his other pieces, that it is scarcely a fair specimen of his style. It was long popular, and I can remember when a child, hearing it sung to very beautiful music.

Send home my long stray'd eyes to me, Which, oh! too long have dwelt on thee!

But if from thee they've learnt such ill, Such forced fashions And false pa.s.sions, That they be Made by thee Fit for no good sight--keep them still!

Send home my harmless heart again, Which no unworthy thought could stain!

But if it hath been taught by thine To make jestings Of protestings, To forget both Its word and troth, Keep it still--'tis none of mine!

Perhaps it may interest some readers to add, that Donne's famous lines, which have been quoted _ad infinitum_,--

The pure and eloquent blood Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, Ye might have almost said her body thought!

were not written on his wife, but on Elizabeth Drury, the only daughter of his patron and friend, Sir Robert Drury. She was the richest heiress in England, the wealth of her father being considered almost incalculable; and this, added to her singular beauty, and extraordinary talents and acquirements, rendered her so popularly interesting, that she was considered a fit match for Henry, Prince of Wales. She died in her sixteenth year.

Dr. Donne and his wife were maternal ancestors of the Poet Cowper.

FOOTNOTES:

[45] Lady Lucy Percy, afterwards the famous Countess of Carlisle, mentioned in page 33.

[46] Donne's poems.

[47] Walton's Lives.

[48] Walton's Life of Donne.--Chalmers's Biography.

[49] i. e. low-minded.

[50] Chalmers's Biography.

[51] In 1617.

CHAPTER VII.

CONJUGAL POETRY CONTINUED.

HABINGTON'S CASTARA.

One of the most elegant monuments ever raised by genius to conjugal affection, was Habington's Castara.

William Habington, who ranks among the most graceful of our old minor poets, was a gentleman of an ancient Roman Catholic family in Worcestershire, and born in 1605.[52] On his return from his travels, he saw and loved Lucy Herbert, the daughter of Lord Powis, and grand-daughter of the Earl of Northumberland. She was far his superior in birth, being descended, on both sides, from the n.o.blest blood in England; and her haughty relations at first opposed their union. It was, however, merely that degree of opposition, without which the "course of true love would have run _too_ smooth." It was just sufficient to pique the ardour of the lover, and prove the worth and constancy of her he loved. The history of their attachment has none of the painful interest which hangs round that of Donne and his wife: it is a picture of pure and peaceful happiness, and of mutual tenderness, on which the imagination dwells with a soft complacency and unalloyed pleasure; with nothing of romance but what was borrowed from the elegant mind and playful fancy, which heightened and embellished the delightful reality.

If Habington had not been born a poet, a tombstone in an obscure country church would have been the only memorial of himself and his Castara.

"She it was who animated his imagination with tenderness and elegance, and filled it with images of beauty, purified by her feminine delicacy from all grosser alloy." In return, he may be allowed to exult in the immortality he has given her.

Thy vows are heard! and thy Castara's name Is writ as fair i' the register of fame, As the ancient beauties which translated are By poets up to Heaven--each there a star.

Fix'd in Love's firmament no star shall shine So n.o.bly fair, so purely chaste as thine!

The collection of poems which Habington dedicated to his Castara, is divided into two parts: those written before his marriage he has ent.i.tled "The Mistress," those written subsequently, "The Wife."

He has prefixed to the whole an introduction in prose, written with some quaintness, but more feeling and elegance, in which he claims for himself the honour of being the first _conjugal_ poet in our language.

To use his own words: "Though I appear to strive against the stream of the best wits in erecting the same altar to chast.i.ty and love, I will, for one, adventure to do well without a precedent."

Habington had, however, been antic.i.p.ated, as we have seen, by some of the Italian poets whom he has imitated: he has a little of the _rcherche_ and affectation of their school, and is not untinctured by the false taste of his day. He has not great power, nor much pathos; but these defects are redeemed by a delicacy of expression uncommon at that time; by the interest he has thrown round a love as pure as its object, and by the most exquisite touches of fancy, sentiment, and tenderness.

Without expressly naming his wife in his prefatory remarks, he alludes to her very beautifully, and exults, with a modest triumph, in the value of his rich possession.

"How unhappy soever I may be in the elocution, I am sure the theme is worthy enough. * * * Nor was my invention ever sinister from the straight way of chast.i.ty; and when love builds upon _that_ rock, it may safely contemn the battery of the waves, and the threatenings of the wind. Since time, that makes a mockery of the finest structures, shall itself be ruined before _that_ be demolished. Thus was the foundation laid; and though my eye, in its survey, was satisfied even to curiosity, yet did not my search rest there. The alabaster, ivory, porphyry, jet, that lent an admirable beauty to the outward building, entertained me with but half pleasure, since they stood there only to make sport for ruin. But when my soul grew acquainted with the owner of that mansion, I found that oratory was dumb when it began to speake her."

He then describes her wisdom; her wit; her innocence,--"so unvitiated by conversation with the world, that the subtle-witted of her s.e.x would have termed it ignorance;" her modesty "so timorous, it represented a besieged city standing watchfully on her guard: in a word, all those virtues which should restore woman to her primitive state of virtue, fully adorned her." He then prettily apologises for this indiscreet rhetoric on such a subject. "Such," he says, "I fancied her; for to say she is, or was such, were to play the merchant, and boast too much of the value of the jewel I possess, but have no mind to part with."

He concludes with this just, yet modest appreciation of himself:--"If not too indulgent to what is mine own, I think even these verses will have that proportion in the world's opinion, that heaven hath allotted me in fortune,--not so high as to be wondered at, nor so low as to be contemned."

In the description of "the MISTRESS," are some little touches inimitably graceful and complimentary. Though couched in general terms, it is of course a portrait of Lucy Herbert, such as she appeared to him in the days of their courtship, and fondly recalled and dwelt upon, when she had been many years a wife and a mother. He represents her "as fair as Nature intended her, helpt, perhaps, to a more pleasing grace by the sweetness of education, not by the sleight of art." This discrimination is delicately drawn.--He continues, "she is young; for a woman, past the delicacy of her spring, may well move to virtue by respect, never by beauty to affection. In her carriage, sober, thinking her youth expresseth life enough, without the giddy motion fashion of late hath taken up."--(This was early in the reign of the grave and correct Charles the First. What would Habington have said of the flaunting, fluttering, voluble beauties of Charles the Second's time?)

He extols the melody of her voice, her knowledge of music, and her grace in the dance: above all, he dwells on her retiring modesty, the favourite theme of his praise in prose and verse, which seems to have been the most striking part of her character, and her greatest charm in the eyes of her lover. He concludes, with the beautiful sentiment I have chosen as a motto to this little book.--"Only she, who hath as great a share in virtue as in beauty, deserves a n.o.ble love to serve her, and a free poesie to speak her!"

The poems are all short, generally in the form of _sonnets_, if that name can be properly applied to all poems of fourteen lines, whatever the rhythmical arrangement. The subjects of these, and their quaint expressive t.i.tles, form a kind of chronicle of their loves, in which every little incident is commemorated. Thus we have, "to Castara, inquiring why I loved her."--"To Castara, softly singing to herself."

"To Castara, leaving him on 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 A nectar'd kiss, the wind dares not reveal The treasure I possess!

"To Castara, on being debarred her presence," (probably by her father, Lord Powis.)--

Banish'd from you, I charged the nimble wind, My unseen messenger, to speak my mind In amorous whispers to you!

"Upon her intended journey into the country."--"Upon Seymors," (a house near Marlow, where Castara resided with her parents, and where, it appears, he was not allowed to visit her.)--"On a trembling kiss she had granted him on her departure." The commencement of this is beautiful:

The Arabian wind, whose breathing gently blows Purple to the violet, blushes to the rose, Did never yield an odour such as this!

Why are you then so thrifty of a kiss, Authorized even by custom? Why doth fear So tremble on your lip, my lip being near?

Then we have, "to Castara, on visiting her in the night."--This alludes to a meeting of the lovers, at a time they were debarred from each other's society.

The following are more exquisitely graceful than any thing in Waller, yet much in his style.

TO ROSES IN THE BOSOM OF CASTARA.

Ye blushing virgins happy are In the chaste nunnery of her breast; For he'd profane so chaste a fair Who e'er should call it Cupid's nest.

Transplanted thus, how bright ye grow!

How rich a perfume do ye yield!

In some close garden, cowslips so Are sweeter than i' the open field.