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. In those white cloisters live secure, From the rude blasts of wanton breath; Each hour more innocent and pure, Till ye shall wither into death. Then that which living gave ye room, Your glorious sepulchre shall be; There needs no marble for a tomb,-- That breast hath marble been to me! The epistle to Castara's mother, Lady Eleanor Powis, who appears to have looked kindly on their love, contains some very beautiful lines, in which he asserts the disinterestedness of his affection for Castara, rich as she is in fortune, and derived from the blood of Charlemagne. My love is envious! would Castara were The daughter of some mountain cottager, Who, with his toil worn out, could dying leave Her no more dower than what she did receive From bounteous Nature; her would I then lead To the temple, rich in her own wealth; her head Crowned with her hair's fair treasure; diamonds in Her brighter eyes; soft ermines in her skin, Each India in her cheek, &c. This first part closes with "the description of Castara," which is extended to several stanzas, of unequal merit. The following compose in themselves a sweet picture: