Scotland's Internet

The great human whirlpool!—'tis seething and seething:

On! No time for shrieking out, no time for breathing;

All toiling and moiling—some feebler, some bolder,

But each sees a fiend-face grin over his shoulder:

Thus merrily live they in Vanity Fair!

The great human caldron—it boils ever higher;

Some drowning, some sinking; while some, creeping nigher,

Come thirsting to lean o'er its outermost verges,

Or touch—as a child's feet touch trembling the surges:

One plunge—Ho! more souls swamped in Vanity Fair!

'Let's live while we live, for to-morrow all's over.

Drink deep, drunkard bold! and kiss close, thou mad lover!

Smile, hypocrite, smile! it is no such hard labour,

While each with red hand tears the heart of his neighbour

All slyly.—We're strange folk in Vanity Fair!

'Hist!—each for himself, or herself, which sounds smoother,

Though man's no upholder, and woman no soother,

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.'

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,

Fainter in his ear the laughters growing;

Brief endures the fierce and fiery trial—

Angel-welcomes drown the earth-denial.

Now the amorous death-fires, gleaming ruddy,

Clasp him close. Down sinks the quivering body,

While through harmless flames immortal flying

Shoots the beauteous soul. This—this is dying!

Lo! the opening heavens with splendours rifted;

Lo! the palms that wait those hands uplifted;

And the fiery chariot cloud-descending,

And the legioned angels close attending!

Let his poor dust mingle with the embers,

While the crowd sweeps on, and none remembers;

Saints and angels through the Infinite glory,

Praising God, recount the martyr's story.

Thou, who through the trial-fires bewildering

Of this cruel world, dost lead Thy children,

With the purifying give the balm;

Grant to martyr-pangs the martyr's palm!