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 | A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes |  |
Written at an INN on a particular Occasion.
To thee, fair Freedom! I retire,
From flattery, feasting, dice, and din;
Nor art thou found in domes much higher
Than the low cot, or humble inn.
From flattery, feasting, dice, and din;
Nor art thou found in domes much higher
Than the low cot, or humble inn.
'Tis here with boundless power I reign,
And every health which I begin,
Converts dull port to bright champain;
For Freedom crowns it at an inn.
And every health which I begin,
Converts dull port to bright champain;
For Freedom crowns it at an inn.
52
I fly from pomp, I fly from plate,
I fly from Falshood's specious grin;
Freedom I love, and form I hate,
And chuse my lodgings at an inn.
I fly from Falshood's specious grin;
Freedom I love, and form I hate,
And chuse my lodgings at an inn.
Here, waiter! take my sordid ore,
Which lacqueys else might hope to win;
It buys what courts have not in store,
It buys me Freedom, at an inn.
Which lacqueys else might hope to win;
It buys what courts have not in store,
It buys me Freedom, at an inn.
And now once more I shape my way
Thro' rain or shine, thro' thick or thin,
Secure to meet, at close of day,
With kind reception—at an inn.
Thro' rain or shine, thro' thick or thin,
Secure to meet, at close of day,
With kind reception—at an inn.
Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round,
Where'er his various tour has been,
May sigh to think how oft he found
His warmest welcome—at an inn.
Where'er his various tour has been,
May sigh to think how oft he found
His warmest welcome—at an inn.
| A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes | |