Lines written in early spring

I heard a thousand blended notes.While in a grove I sate reclined,In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughtsBring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did nature linkThe human soul that through me ran;And much it griev'd my heart to thinkWhat man has made of man.

Through primrose-tufts, in that sweet bower,The periwinkle trail'd its wreathes;And 'tis my faith that every flowerEnjoys 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 seem'd 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 lamentWhat man has made of man?