The following poem is supposed to be written previously to Wolsey's departure from his native town. It was breathed in the solitude of his own study, and addressed to her who then held such sway over his affections.-- De Freston's Daughter. Hail! beauteous creature of thy race, Most glorious in form and grace! In every feature purely bright, Reflecting innocence as light; Calm dignity is on thy brow, Intelligence doth round thee glow, And thou art lovely, and of gentlest kind, My kinsman's daughter, and my kindred mind! Fair Ellen, were yon rich domain, Yon castle, tower, and portly train Of serfs and vassals, in their state, Attendant on my nod to wait; And riches of all Europe mine, And thou couldst say, no wealth was thine Then wouldst thou be as much, or more, to me, Than now I wish the scholar were to thee. Alone, I'm seated in my cell, My studies weary me unwell, My thoughts distracted, mind no more The beauties of the classic lore; For all I read, or hear, or see, Remind me, Ellen, but of thee And if of thee I can alone have thought, My heart would fain of thee alone be taught. Fair Helen was not half so bright, Though heroes for her met in fight, Though Paris lov'd, and sons of Troy, With aged Priam, lov'd the boy Who stole her. Helen was not fair, If virtues thine with hers compare; For thou, in grace, in modesty, and mien, Transcendent far the far-famed Grecian Queen! Thine head is Grecian, brow is high, Expansive as the summer sky; And crown'd with locks of flowing hair, Such as thy mother, Eve, might wear, When first to Adam she appeared. And Paradise of Eden shared; So open, innocent, and calm a brow, None but the purest of her daughters show! Thine eyes half shaded by thine hair, Dark flowing down thy forehead fair, Cast forth their beams, inquiring how All things created ought to bow To Him who made them. E'en of me They ask what worship ought to be; And, when I view them, I confess I feel As if their radiance would make me kneel. To see that eye intent on thought, Which learning has in wisdom taught; And see its glance to heavenward bend, As if thy spirit would ascend And bring down answers from the sky To all that seems a mystery: Its swelling orb, as rolling sphere at night, Glitters in aqueous moisture pure and bright. Thy form, how graceful! like the fawn Bounding along the spacious lawn; Or, as the lamb at morning light Skips from the fold in sportive flight, Enjoying life, so oft I've seen Thy form light bounding o'er the green To meet me coming. O! that I could be Ellen De Freston, ever near to thee.