then the canterbury pilgrims went up the hill, while the poet chanted a drear and desperate stanza of the farewell to his harp, fitting music for that melancholy band. they sought a home where all former ties of nature or society would be sundered, and all old distinctions levelled, and a cold and passionless security be substituted for mortal hope and fear, as in that other refuge of the world's weary outcasts, the grave.