To thee, fair Freedom, I retire,
From flattery, cards, and dice, and din;
Nor art thou found in mansions higher
Than the low cott or humble inn.
And the last verse, which is often quoted, runs:
Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round,
Whate'er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome at an inn.
In summer the red brick of the hotel is almost hidden by the creepers which embrace it; especially noticeable is the glorious wistaria, most lovely of all the climbing plants.