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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;


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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