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 eyes
Was light, that might have mocked the stars,
That gem the silent skies.
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 eyes
Was 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 depart
From 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.
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 depart
From 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.
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 curled
As 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.
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 curled
As 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."
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.
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.