Occasional Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

If Heav'n the thriving Trader bless,
What fawning Crouds about him press?
But if he fail, distress'd, and poor,
His Mob of Friends are seen no more:
For all Men hold it meet to fly
Th' infectious Breath of Poverty.
Poor Frank deserted and forlorn,
Curses the Day that he was born:
Each treach'rous Crony hides his Face,
Or starts whene'er he haunts the Place.
His Wealth thus lost, with that his Friends,
On Fortune still the Youth depends:
One Smile (said he) can soon restore
A Bankrupt Wretch, and give him more;

266

She will not sure refuse her Aid?
Fallacious Hope! for the false Jade
That very day took wing, was flown,
And on her wonted Journey gone,
(Intent her costly Goods to sell)
From Panama to Portobel:
Five hundred Mules her Baggage bear,
And groan beneath the precious Ware,
The Goddess rides sublime in Air;
And hence conveys a fresh supply,
For Pride, Debate, and Luxury.
Frank, when he heard th' unwelcome News,
Like a staunch Hound the Chace pursues,
Takes the same Rout, doubles his speed,
Nor doubts her help in time of need.

O'er the wide Waste, thro' pathless ways,
The solitary Pilgrim strays;

267

Now on the swampy desart Plain,
Thro' Brakes of Mangroves works with pain;
Then climbs the Hills with many a groan,
And melts beneath the Torrid Zone.
With Berries, and green Plantains, fed,
On the parch'd Earth he leans his Head;
Fainting with Thirst, to Heav'n he cries,
But finds no Stream but from his Eyes.
Ah Wretch! thy vain Laments forbear,
And for a worse Extreme prepare;
Sudden the low'ring Storms arise,
The bursting Thunder rends the Skies,
Aslant the ruddy Light'ning flies;
Darts thro' the Gloom a transient Ray,
And gives a short, but dreadful Day:
With pealing Rain the Woods resound,
Convulsions shake the solid Ground.

268

Benumb'd with Cold, but more with Fear,
Strange Phantoms to his Mind appear,
The Wolves around him howl for Food,
The rav'nous Tygers hunt for Blood,
And Canibals more fierce than they,
(Monsters who make Mankind their Prey)
Riot, and feast on human Gore,
And still insatiate thirst for more.
Half dead at every Noise he hears,
His Fancy multiplies his Fears;
What e'er he read or heard of old,
What e'er his Nurse or Crusoe told,
Each tragick Scene his Eyes behold:
Things past as present Fear applies,
Their Pains he bears, their Deaths he dies.

At length the Sun began to peep,
And gild the Surface of the Deep,

269

Then on the reeking Moisture fed,
The scatter'd Clouds before him fled,
The Rivers shrunk into their Bed:
Nature revives; the feather'd Throng
Salute the Morning with a Song.
Frank with his Fellow-Brutes arose,
Yet dreaming still he saw his Foes,
Reels to and fro, laments, and grieves,
And starting, doubts if yet he lives.
At last his Spirits mend their pace,
And Hope sat dawning on his Face;
Ev'n such is Human Life (said he)
A Night of Dread, and Misery,
'Till Heav'n relents, relieves our Pain,
And Sun-shine Days return again.
O Fortune! who dost now bestow
Frowning, this bitter Cup of Woe,
Do not thy faithful Slave destroy,
But give th' Alternative of Joy.

270

Then many a painful step he takes,
O'er Hills and Vales, thro' Woods, and Brakes:
No sturdy desp'rate Buccaneer
E'er suffer'd Hardships more severe.
Stubborn, incorrigibly blind,
No Dangers can divert his Mind;
His tedious Journey he pursues,
At last his Eye transported views
Fair Portobel, whose rising Spires
Inflame his Heart with new Desires.
Secure of Fortune's Grace, he smiles,
And flatt'ring Hope the Wretch beguiles.
Tho' Nature calls for Sleep and Food,
Yet stronger Avarice subdu'd;
Ev'n shameful Nakedness, and Pain,
And Thirst and Hunger plead in vain:
No rest he gives his weary Feet,
Fortune he seeks from Street to Street;
Careful in ev'ry Corner pries,
Now here, now there, impatient flies,

271

Wherever busy Crouds resort,
The Change, the Market, and the Port;
In vain he turns his Eye-balls round,
Fortune was no where to be found;
The Jilt not many Hours before,
With the Plate Fleet had left the Shore:
Laughs at the cred'lous Fool behind,
And joyful skuds before the Wind.
Poor Frank forsaken on the Coast,
All his fond Hopes at once are lost.
Aghast the swelling Sails he views,
And with his Eye the Fleet pursues,
'Till lessen'd to his weary'd Sight,
It leaves him to Despair, and Night.
So when the faithless Theseus fled
The Cretan Nymph's deserted Bed,
Awak'd, at distance on the Main,
She view'd the prosp'rous perjur'd Swain,
And call'd th' avenging Gods in vain.

272

Prostrate on Earth till Break of Day
Senseless, and motionless he lay,
'Till Tears at last find out their way;
Gush like a Torrent from his Eyes,
In Bitterness of Soul (he cries)
“O Fortune! now too late I see,
“Too late, alas! thy Treachery.
“Wretch that I am, abandon'd, lost,
“About the World at random tost,
“Whither, oh whither shall I run?
“Sore pinch'd with Hunger, and undone.
“In the dark Mines go hide thy head
“Accurs'd, exchange thy Sweat for Bread,
“Skulk underground, in Earth's dark Womb
“Go Slave, and dig thy self a Tomb:
“There's Gold enough; pernicious Gold!
“To which long since thy Peace was sold;
“Vain helpless Idol! canst thou save
“This shatter'd Carcass from the Grave?

273

“Restless Disturber of Mankind,
“Canst thou give Health, or Peace of Mind?
“Ah no, deceiv'd the Fool shall be
“Who puts his Confidence in thee.
“Fatally blind, my native Home
“I left, in this rude World to roam;
“O Brother! shall I view no more
“Thy Peaceful Bow'rs? fair Albion's Shore?
“Yes (if kind Heav'n my Life shall spare)
“Some happy Moments yet I'll share,
“In thy delightful blest Retreat,
“With thee contemn the Rich, and Great;
“Redeem my Time mispent, and wait
“'Till Death relieve th' Unfortunate.

Adversity, sage useful Guest,
Severe Instructor, but the best;
It is from thee alone we know
Justly to value things below;

274

Right Reason's ever faithful Friend,
To thee our haughty Passions bend;
Tam'd by thy Rod (poor Frank) at last,
Repents of all his Follies past;
Resign'd, and patient to endure
Those Ills, which Heav'n alone can cure.
With vain Pursuits and Labours worn,
He meditates a quick return,
Longs to revisit yet once more,
Poor Prodigal! his native Shore.
In the next Ship for Britain bound,
Glad Frank a ready Passage found;
Nor Vessel now, nor Fraight his own,
He fears no longer Fortune's Frown;
No Property but Life his Share,
Life a frail Good not worth his Care;
Active and willing to obey,
A merry Mariner and gay,
He hands the Sails, and jokes all day.

275

At Night no Dreams disturb his Rest,
No Passions riot in his Breast,
For having nothing left to lose,
Sweet and unbroken his Repose:
And now fair Albion's Cliffs are seen,
And Hills with fruitful Herbage green:
His Heart beats quick, the Joy that ties
His falt'ring Tongue bursts from his Eyes.
At length thus hail'd the well-known Land,
And kneeling, kiss'd the happy Strand.
“And do I then draw native Air,
“After an Age of Toil and Care?
“O welcome Parent Isle! no more
“The Vagrant shall desert thy Shore,
“But flying to thy kind Embrace,
“Here end his Life's laborious Race.
So when the Stag, intent to rove,
Quits the safe Park, and shelt'ring Grove,
Tops the high Pale, stroles unconfin'd,
And leaves the lazy Herd behind,

276

Blest in his happy Change a while,
Corn Fields, and flow'ry Meadows smile,
The pamper'd Beast enjoys the Spoil;
'Till on the next returning Morn,
Alarm'd, he hears the fatal Horn;
Before the staunch, blood-thirsty Hounds,
Panting o'er Hills unknown he bounds,
With Clamour ev'ry Wood resounds:
He creeps the thorny Brakes with pain,
He seeks the distant Stream in vain,
And now, by sad Experience wise,
To his dear Home the Rambler flies;
His old Inclosure gains once more,
And joins the Herd, he scorn'd before.

Nor are his Labours finish'd yet,
Hunger, and Thirst, and Pain and Sweat,
And many a tedious Mile remains,
Before his Brother's House he gains.

277

Without one Doit his Purse to bless,
Nor very elegant his Dress;
With a tarr'd Jump, a crooked Batt,
Scarce one whole Shoe, and half a Hat;
From Door to Door the Stroler skip'd,
Sometimes reliev'd, but oftner whip'd:
Sun-burnt, and ragged on he fares,
At last the Mansion-House appears,
Timely Relief for all his Cares.
Around he gaz'd, his greedy Sight,
Devours each Object with delight;
Thro' each known Haunt transported roves,
Gay smiling Fields, and shady Groves,
Once conscious of his youthful Loves.
About the Hospitable Gate
Crouds of dejected Wretches wait;
Each day kind Bob's diffusive Hand,
Chear'd and refresh'd the tatter'd Band,
Proud the most God-like Joy to share,
He fed the Hungry, cloath'd the Bare.

278

Frank amongst these his Station chose,
With Looks revealing inward Woes;
When lo! with Wonder and Surprize,
He saw Dame Fortune in disguise;
He saw, but scarce believ'd his Eyes.
Her fawning Smiles, her tricking Air,
Th' egregious Hypocrite declare;
A Gypsy's Mantle round her spread
Of various Dye, White, Yellow, Red;
Strange Feats she promis'd, clamour'd loud,
And with her Cant amus'd the Croud:
There ev'ry day impatient ply'd,
Push'd to get in, but still deny'd;
For Bob, who knew the subtile Whore,
Thrust the false Vagrant from his Door.
But when the Stranger's Face he view'd,
With no deceitful Tears bedew'd,
His boding Heart began to melt,
And more than usual Pity felt:

279

He trac'd his Features o'er and o'er,
That spoke him better born, tho' poor,
Tho' cloath'd in Rags, genteel his Mien,
That Face he somewhere must have seen:
Nature at last reveals the Truth,
He knows, and owns the hapless Youth.
Surpriz'd, and speechless, both embrace,
And mingling Tears o'erflow each Face;
'Till Bob, thus eas'd his lab'ring Thought,
And this Instructive Moral taught.

Welcome (my Brother) to my longing Arms,
Here on my Bosom rest secure from Harms;
See Fortune there, that false delusive Jade,
To whom thy Pray'rs, and ardent Vows, were paid;
She (like her Sex) the fond Pursuer flies,
But slight the Jilt, and at thy Feet she dies.
Now safe in Port, indulge thy self on Shore,
Oh tempt the faithless Winds and Seas no more;

280

Let unavailing Toils, and Dangers past,
Tho' late, this useful Lesson teach at last,
True Happiness is only to be found
In a contented Mind, a Body sound,
All else is Dream, a Dance on Fairy Ground:
While restless Fools, each idle Whim pursue,
And still one Wish obtain'd creates a new,
Like froward Babes, the Toys they have, detest,
While still the newest Trifle pleases best:
Let us (my Brother) rich in Wisdom's store,
What Heaven has lent, enjoy, nor covet more;
Subdue our Passions, curb their saucy Rage,
And to ourselves restore the Golden Age.

This is the Road the King of Spain's Treasure is carried over the Isthmus of Darien.

A sort of Brier in the West-Indies very troublesome to Travellers.