Habington wrote. But, perhaps, equally charming in its way, and with a sweet, frank ingenuousness that recalls the lyrics of Elizabeth's own day, is the little poem, "Upon Castara's Departure":
Vows are vaine. No suppliant breath
Stayes the speed of swift-heel'd death.
Life with her is gone and I
Learne but a new way to dye.
See the flowers condole, and all
Wither in my funerall.
The bright Lilly, as if day
Parted with her, fades away.
Violets hang their heads, and lose
All their beauty. That the Rose
A sad part in sorrow beares,
Witnesse all those dewy teares;
Which as Pearle or Dyamond like
Swell upon her blushing cheeke.
All things mourne, but oh, behold
How the wither'd Marigold
Closeth up now she is gone,
Judging her the setting Sunne.
In delicacy and chastity of imagination, in tenderness of sentiment, and in a certain even felicity of verse, Castara has had few rivals. After the fashion of its own age, it may be said to have accomplished very much what Coventry Patmore achieved in The Angel in The House—the glorification of domestic love.
Habington's religious poems form a curious contrast to those of Richard Crashaw, which appeared only five years later. They have scarcely a trace of the younger poet's ecstasy of joy and tenderness, nor of his lyric melody. But they have the solemnity of far-off organ music, and sometimes "heart-perturbing" echoes of the Dies Irae seem floating through the lines:
