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I heard a
thousand blended notes
While in a grove I sat
reclined,
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 grieved my heart to think
What Man has
made of Man.
Through primrose tufts, in that
sweet bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it
breathes.
The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure -
But the least
motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of
pleasure.
The budding twigs spread out their fan
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I
can,
That there was pleasure there.
If this
belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy
plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What Man has
made of Man?
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