Classic Poem

Friendly it stands, that Inn upon the plain,
And keen the lamps burn through the cryptic night.
How jocund sound the voices, and how bright
The cheer! How warm the housing from the rain!

The traveler, once arrived, forgets the long,
Blank journey leading thither; all the dim,
Mysterious days are nothing now to him,
Seated amidst the food and wine and song.

But when, the reckoning paid, his comrades fled,
He steps upon the road and moves away,
His soul is puzzled sore—he can not say
What Inn it was, or by whom tenanted.