He knocked, was welcomed in; none asked his name,
Nor whither he was bound, nor whence he came;
But he was beckoned to the stranger’s seat,
Right side the chimney fire of blazing peat.
Blest Hospitality makes not her home
In wallèd parks and castellated dome;
She flies the city’s needy greedy crowd,
And shuns still more the mansions of the proud;—
The balm of savage or of simple life,
A wild flower cut by culture’s polished knife!