Yet all that grief within the humble shed
Was soften’d, softened in the humble bed:
But here, in all its force, remains the grief,
And not one softening object for relief.
Who can, when here, the social neighbour meet?
Who learn the story current in the street?
Who to the long-known intimate impart
Facts they have learn’d or feelings of the heart?
They talk indeed, but who can choose a friend,
Or seek companions at their journey’s end?