LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING.
I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reed,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
To her fair works did nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grievd my heart to think
What man has made of man.
Through primrose-tufts, in that sweet bower,
The periwiraild its wreathes;
And tis my faith that every ?ower
Enjoys the air it breathes.
The birds around me hoppd and playd:
Their thoughts I easure,
But the least motion which they made,
It seemd a thrill of pleasure.
The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I ,
That there leasure there.
If I these thoughts may not prevent,
If such be of my creed the plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?