The sadness of his heart has fully returned, and the journey of life is
dull and weary. The skies above and the prospect before him are no longer
what they used to be, when Hallam was by. "The blowing season," when
_plants are blossoming_: the "herald melodies of spring," when the birds
proclaim that winter is past, give him no joy; but in his own songs he
finds a "gleam of solace;" and if after death there be any consciousness
retained of what has been left upon earth,
"Then are these songs I sing of thee
Not all ungrateful to thine ear."