O, agony! I turn mine eye To dwell on distant turret high, Where oft in joy extatic past, I've hoped my happiness would last, Where life with hope and love began. Ambition roused the rising man. O, darkest woe! O, weary, dismal hour! I loved--and lost--the maid of Freston Tower. Weep, eyelids, weep your fountain dry, Ye ne'er can soothe mine agony; Lips, never ope again to speak, Save when the bursting heart will break; Tongue, cleave thou to thy parched roof, And never give one lisping proof That she I loved hath ne'er that love returned; My loss is greater than my love hath earn'd. I cannot bear yon sails to see, So smoothly gliding merrily; Time was, they gave me joy to view Their contrast to the water's hue; And I was happy! happy then! To know both boats, and sails, and men. Now know I none! and none can welcome give To him who soon this busy scene must leave. Oh! whisper not, ye zephyrs mild, Oh! whisper not to man or child, Nor tell it in my lady's bower-- To Ellen of De Freston's Tower! To friend, or father, that I sigh For her with deepest agony; Let not the noble or his daughter know. That Wolsey suffers from a rival's blow. I'll far away for ever flee From this unknown catastrophe! I'll seek in science my relief! Science will only swell my grief; I'll court the cloister, try the priest, All will believe I loved it best! That my celibacy, for conscience' sake, Is for the holy orders I would take. I'll rule my will, I'll curb my love, I'll bow submissive as the dove; O, Ellen! yes, for thee I bow, And never, never shalt thou know, Till in another world we meet, How sat the heart thou could'st not great! Deep in my soul thy virtues I can feel, But, that I love thee, tongue shall never tell! Farewell, my friend! thou shalt not know How thy success has caused me woe; Though, like Prometheus, I am chained, I'll kindle fire which none have gained, For all shall see, and all partake The sacrifice I then shall make; O, Latimer! my friendship thou wilt prove, May'st thou ne'er feel the agony of love! My native town, my native wave, My native hills, my parent's grave. My friends of youth, my days of joy, My hopes of fame, my life's alloy, My woes, my cares, my fears, my sighs, My sorrows, and my agonies, Must bend to fate, and future years must tell How my soul loved ye, when I said farewell! This poem is extracted from one many hundred lines long, which when a poetical age shall come, may, perhaps, many years hence, be thought a great curiosity. It is in the possession of a gentleman who will doubtless preserve it, if he does not publish it.