Both struggle alike here.--What, weeping?--what, raving?
Pah!--fight out the battle all! No time for saving!
Ha! ha! 'tis a wondrous place, Vanity Fair!'

The mad crowd divides, and then closes swift after;
Afar, towers the pyre, lit with shouting and laughter;
'What new sport is this?' lisps a reveller, half turning;--
'One Faithful, poor wretch! who is led to the burning:
He cumbered us sorely in Vanity Fair!

'A dreamer--who held every man for a brother;
A coward--who, emit on one cheek, gave the other:
A fool--whose blind truth aye believed all knaves' lying;
Too simple to live, so most fitted for dying.
Ha! such are best swept out of Vanity Fair.'


II.

Silence! though the flame-drifts wave and flutter;
Silence! though the crowd their curses mutter;
Silence! through this fiery purgatory
God is leading up a soul to glory.

See, the white lips with no moans are trembling,
Hate of foes, or plaint of friends' dissembling;
If sighs come--most patient prayers outlive them:
_'Lord, these know not what they do. Forgive them!'_

Thirstier still the roaring flames are glowing,