Sonnet Xv Poem by Robert Anderson

TO A PRETENDED FRIEND.

Since all are wand'rers o'er life's dreary waste,
If, faint and weary, by the path--way side,
I saw a fellow--traveller in distress,
Tho' weak, I would stretch forth my feeble arm
To help him on--nor deem the time misspent.
So thou hast said full oft; but, when pale Want,
Unwelcome visitor! with pallid eye,
Came stalking in upon me, thou wert fled.
Thus the poor seaman, on the stormy deep,
Sees dangers press; and, by the fancied land
Lur'd from his wonted course, he sighs and sinks.
Yet may chill Poverty ne'er be thy lot,
Nor thou e'er taste Misfortune's bitter draught,
But drink the cup thou would'st not hold to others.