PODOl OJ' lfATOR&.Jinu furiftm i:n lllliiZ !prlng.
I BtAllD a thousand blended notes
WhUe in a grove I BAt reclin'd,
In thAt aweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring aan thoughts to the mind.To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me rau :
A nil much it grieved my heart to think
What man bas made of mao.Through primrose tufta 1 in that green bower,
The periwinkle trail'<l ita wreathe;
A.nd^1 t18 my faith tbl\t every Jlower
Enjoys the air it breatbea.The birds around me bopp'd and play'd,
Their thoughts I cannot meuure :-
But the least motion which they made,
It &eem'd a thrill of pleaaure.The budding twigs spread out their fAn
To catch the breezy air;
And I muet tbiuk, do nll I can,
That there WM pleasure there.II this belief from heaven be eent,
If eueh be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reaeon to lament
What wan bas made of man t
WoaDawoam.Jomt tqoug!Jts fram ~hroub.
Oa, to be in England,
Now that April's t here,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, &ome morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brnah-wood ahear
.Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leal;
While the chaffinch ainga 011 the orchard bough
In England--now!