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Iona Leigh
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Nature's Lament
To her fair works did Nature link
The soul that through me ran
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man
I heard a thousand blended notes
While in a grove I reclined
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Brought sad thoughts to the mind
Through primrose tufts in that green bower
The myrtle herb trailed it's wreaths
And through my faith now every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes
The birds around me hopped and played
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Their thoughts I cannot measure
But the least motion that they made
Did seem a thrill of pleasure
A budding twig spread out its 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 plan
Have I not reason to lament
For what man has made of man?
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