This Poem opens as if Hallam's grave was in the churchyard, where grasses
waved; but it was not so, he was buried inside Clevedon church.
The Poet imagines the reproofs, with which passers-by will visit him for
his unrestrained grief. He would "make weakness weak:" would parade his
pain to court sympathy, and gain credit for constancy; and another says,
that a display of private sorrow is quite inappropriate at times, when
great political changes impend, and Science every month is evolving some
new secret.
He replies, that his song is but like that of the linnet--joyous indeed
when her brood first flies, but sad when the nest has been rifled of her
young.