Samuel Waddington (1844–1923)

AT Nebra, by the Unstrut,—

So travellers declare,—

There stands an ancient tavern,

It is the ‘Inn of Care’.

To all the world ’tis open;

It sets a goodly fare;

And every soul is welcome

That deigns to sojourn there.

The landlord with his helpers,

(He is a stalwart host,)

To please his guest still labours

With ‘bouilli’ and with ‘roast’;—

And ho! he laughs so roundly,

He laughs, and loves to boast

That he who bears the beaker

May live to share the ‘toast’.

Lucus a non lucendo—

Thus named might seem the inn,

So careless is its laughter,

So loud its merry din;

Yet ere to doubt its title

You do, in sooth, begin,

Go, watch the pallid faces

Approach and pass within.

To Nebra, by the Unstrut,

May all the world repair,

And meet a hearty welcome,

And share a goodly fare;

The world! ’tis worn and weary—

’Tis tired of gilt and glare!

The inn! ’tis named full wisely,

It is the ‘Inn of Care’.