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92
BEARERS OF THE WORLD.
I thought of that grave Fable of the Past,
World-shouldering Atlas, and I slept at noon.
World-shouldering Atlas, and I slept at noon.
Then wandering shadows, wavering out of dreams,
(From men once sweating in the sun,) I saw,
Stooping and groaning, pass—like those beheld
In Purgatory by the Florentine,
Bow'd down with penance. And these utter'd cries
Of sharp complaint continuous, wailing blind
At the deaf Providence that would not see
Nor lift their woful burdens. Each one cried:
“Most wretched Atlas, for I bear the world!”
And vanish'd in some barren space of sand.
Then others follow'd—burden'd like to those
That pass'd before lamenting—crown'd with peace,
Silent with dews of patience in their breasts,
Or with long sorrows hush'd on prayerful lips,
Or cheerful-brow'd, with forward-looking smiles
Of tender welcome for the wayside friends
By Nature sent to meet them—flower, and bird,
And tree, and fountain-head, and dancing brook;
And some with eyes uplifted came, like him
Who dropp'd his pack at the Celestial Gate,
White with the years and wayworn with the dust.
And each one, leaning onward ever, said:
“Most happy Atlas, for I bear the world!”—
Vanishing in the gateways of a Land
Green with the pastures of a Paradise.
(From men once sweating in the sun,) I saw,
Stooping and groaning, pass—like those beheld
In Purgatory by the Florentine,
Bow'd down with penance. And these utter'd cries
Of sharp complaint continuous, wailing blind
At the deaf Providence that would not see
Nor lift their woful burdens. Each one cried:
“Most wretched Atlas, for I bear the world!”
And vanish'd in some barren space of sand.
93
That pass'd before lamenting—crown'd with peace,
Silent with dews of patience in their breasts,
Or with long sorrows hush'd on prayerful lips,
Or cheerful-brow'd, with forward-looking smiles
Of tender welcome for the wayside friends
By Nature sent to meet them—flower, and bird,
And tree, and fountain-head, and dancing brook;
And some with eyes uplifted came, like him
Who dropp'd his pack at the Celestial Gate,
White with the years and wayworn with the dust.
And each one, leaning onward ever, said:
“Most happy Atlas, for I bear the world!”—
Vanishing in the gateways of a Land
Green with the pastures of a Paradise.
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