I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate 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 griev'd 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 hopp'd and play'd :
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 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?
With an incident in which he was concerned.
In the sweet shire of Cardigan,
Not far from pleasant Ivor-hall,
An Old Man dwells, a little man,
I've heard he once was tall.
Of years he has upon his back,
No doubt, a burthen weighty ;
He
says
he is three score and ten, But others say he's eighty.
A long blue livery-coat has he, That's fair behind, and fair before; Yet, meet him where you will, you see At once that he is poor. Full five-and-twenty years he lived A running Huntsman merry; And, though he has but one eye left, His cheek is like a cherry.
No man like him the horn could sound,
And no man was so full of glee;
To say the least, four counties round
Had heard of Simon Lee;
His Master's dead, and no one now
Dwells in the hall of Ivor;
Men, Dogs, and Horses, all are dead;
He is the sole survivor.
And he is lean and he is sick,
His dwindled body's half awry;
His ancles they are swoln and thick;
His legs are thin and dry.
When he was young he little knew
Of husbandry or tillage ;
And now he's forced to work, though weak,
-The weakest in the village.
He all the country could outrun,
Could leave both man and horse behind;
And often, ere the race was done,
He reeled and was stone-blind.
And still there's something in the world
At which bis heart rejoices;
For when the chiming hounds are out,
He dearly loves their voices !
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