Poems (Edwards)/The World Wearied
THE WORLD WEARIED.
Composed upon meeting with one, in a gay circle, who seemed not to partake of the general joy around him.
He stood amid a cheerful throng, Bright glances round him shone,But his spirit seemed a joyless thing, Alone, alone, alone; Strange beauty dwelt upon his brow, And in his dark bright eyesWas light, that might have mocked the stars, That gem the silent skies.
Glad music pealed along the air, Sweet voices round him stole,But these, aye! these were not the things To fetter down his soul;His was the longing restlessness, That struggles to departFrom all the dizzy cares below, And join the pure in heart,To soar above life's meaner things, To rest where Angels rest,To dwell where saints in union dwell, To sit among the blest;These were the wishes and the hopes That swelled his noble breast.
He had drunk deeply from the cup— The gilded cup of fame, And laurels beautiful and bright Were wreathing round his name;And pleasure beckoned him away Through all her giddy maze,And life was all as beautiful As in his early days;The bow of promise spanned his sky And love her wings unfurled,And yet that richly gifted one Was weary of the world.
I marked him when the voice of song Stole on his listening 'ear,The mournful melody of notes Awakened not a tear;And yet a shadowy veil would fall Upon his brow the while,Made darker, darker, by the light Of his unconscious smile;And from his wond'rous eyes there beamed A strange and fitful fire, A light that shone like the last gleam That marks a funeral pyre.The hum of voices pressed his heart And his pure lip was curledAs mournfully his spirit sighed, "I'm weary of the world;Its coldness and its heartlessness Has touched my troubled soul,"And from his heart, the pent up thoughts In wild deep numbers stole.
"Take back thy garlands earth! take back The garlands thou hast given,They press too heavy on my brow, I would these leaves were riven,I would my spirit could escape From this frail house of clay,And soar away to a brighter sky, And to a purer day;I'm weary of the giddy crowd, Of all life's dreary things; I'm weary of this heavy clay That fetters down my wings,I long for freer, higher life, A purer fount of bliss,I long for that bright world, where love Is holier than in this;Earth! earth! thou hast not much to bind My spirit to thee now,In vain thy jewelled fingers twine Rich garlands. 'round my brow;I turn with weariness from all Thy joys, I would depart,I would mount up to higher scenes And join the pure in heart."
He ceased, and in his dark soft eye A deeper radiance shone,And a calmer mood of melody Dwelt in his manly tone;A softer look was on his brow, And on his moulded cheek Were written thoughts that mortal tongue May never, never speak;He seemed a glorious spark of life From earth's wide orbit riven,His thoughts were all unlinked from ours, And fixed alone on Heaven;World-wearied Pilgrim, turn like him From all life's gilded toys,And seek for treasures where no rust, Nor cankering worm destroys.