On the death of his father, he returned to Nagera, to assist his widowed mother, and attend to the interests of his estate. Here, in retirement and peace, he dedicated himself to the acquirement of knowledge and the cultivation of poetry. He married, in the year 1626, donna Antonia de Leyva Villodas, a beautiful and distinguished lady. Having six children, he endeavoured, by means of powerful friends, to obtain some employment that might add to his scanty income, and give him leisure at the same time to prosecute various designs in literature and poetry which he projected on a large scale, but he only succeeded in being appointed to a place of slight importance and emolument "Thus," says Sedano, "this great man was, in common with almost every other person of eminence, pursued by adversity, which was the cause that his talents did not shine as brilliantly as they might have done, and that his name has not come down with due celebrity to our days." At last, giving up hope of worldly advancement, he retired to his estate, where he died in 1669, in the seventy-fourth year of his age. Although the conceits, the fashion of the age, sometimes deteriorate from Villegas's poetry, he has more natural facility, added to classical correctness, than almost any other Spanish poet. His verses flow on with elegance and softness, joined to a nature and feeling quite enchanting. His translations of Anacreon have the simplicity and pure unencumbered expression of the original; that of the "Dove" breathes Anacreon himself. For the sake of the Spanish reader it is appended at the bottom of the page[106], and he can compare it with the Greek, and perceive that Anacreon never found poet so capable of transfusing into another language the vivacity, and grace of his lyrics. His original Anacreontics may almost be said to deserve a place beside the immortal Greek. We copy from Mr. Wiffen's pages one of his sapphics, rendered pre-eminent by its delicacy and beauty:-- "TO THE ZEPHYR. "Sweet neighbour of the green, leaf-shaking grove, Eternal guest of April, frolic child Of a sad sire, life-breath of mother Love, Favonius, Zephyr mild! If thou has learned like me to love,--away! Thou who hast borne the murmurs of my cry; Hence--no demur--and to my Flora say, Say that 'I die!' Flora once knew what bitter tears I shed; Flora once wept to see my sorrows flow; Flora once loved me--but I dread, I dread Her anger now. So may the Gods--so may the calm blue sky, For the fair time that thou in gentle mirth Sport'st in the air, with love benign deny Snows to the earth! So never may the grey cloud's cumbrous sail, When from on high the rosy day-break springs, Beat on thy shoulders, nor its evil hail Wound thy fine wings!" [Footnote 104: " Mil veces voy á hablar á mi zagala, pero mas quiero callar, por no esperar que me envie noramala