Classic Poem

II. The F IREMEN'S B ALL

Section One

" Give the engines room,
Give the engines room. "
Louder, faster
The little band-master
Whips up the fluting,
Hurries up the tooting.
He thinks thaThe stands,
The reins in his hands,
In the fire-chief's place
In the night alarm chase.
The cymbals whang,
The kettledrums bang: —
" Clear the street,
Clear the street,
Clear the street — Boom, boom.
In the evening gloom,
In the evening gloom,
Give the engines room,
Give the engines room,
Lest souls be trapped
In a terrible tomb. "
The sparks and the pine-brands
Whirl on high
From the black and reeking alleys
To the wide red sky.
Hear the hot glass crashing,
Hear the stone steps hissing.
Coal-black streams
Down the gutters pour.
There are cries for help
From a far fifth floor.
For a longer ladder
Hear the fire-chief call.
Listen to the music
Of the firemen's ball.
Listen to the music
Of the firemen's ball.
" 'Tis the
N IGHT
Of doom. "
Say the ding-dong doom-bells.
" N IGHT
Of doom. "
Say the ding-dong doom-bells.

Faster, faster
The red flames come.
" Hum grum, " say the engines,
" Hum grum grum. "
" Buzz, buzz, "
Says the crowd.
" See, see, "
Calls the crowd.
" Look out, "
Yelps the crowd
And the high walls fall: —
Listen to the music
Of the firemen's ball.
Listen to the music
Of the firemen's ball.
" 'Tis the
N IGHT
Of doom, "
Say the ding-dong doom-bells.
N IGHT
Of doom,
Say the ding-dong doom-bells.
Whangaranga, whangaranga,
Whang, whang, whang,
Clang, clang, clangaranga,
Clang, clang, clang.
Clang — a — ranga —
Clang — a — ranga —
Clang — a — ranga —
Clang,
Clang,
Clang.
Listen — to — the — music —
Of the firemen's ball —

Section Two

" Many's the heart that's breaking
If we could read them all
After the ball is over. " (An old song.)

Scornfully, gaily
The bandmaster sways,
Changing the strain
That the wild band plays.
With a red and royal intoxication,
A tangle of sounds
And a syncopation,
Sweeping and bending
From side to side,
Master of dreams,
With a peacock pride.
A lord of the delicate flowers of delight
He drives compunction
Back through the night.
Dreams he's a soldier
Plumed and spurred,
And valiant lads
Arise at his word,
Flaying the sober
Thoughts he hates,
Driving them back
From the dream-town gates.
How can the languorous
Dancers know
The red dreams come
When the good dreams go?
" 'Tis the
N IGHT
Of love, "
Call the silver joy-bells,
" N IGHT
Of love, "
Call the silver joy-bells.
Honey and wine,
Honey and wine.
Sing low, now, violins,
Sing, sing low,
Blow gently, wood-wind,
Mellow and slow.
Like midnight poppies
The sweethearts bloom.
Their eyes flash power,
Their lips are dumb.
Faster and faster
Their pulses come,
Though softer now
The drum-beats fall.
Honey and wine,
Honey and wine.
'Tis the firemen's ball,
'Tis the firemen's ball.

" I am slain, "
Cries true-love
There in the shadow.
" And I die, "
Cries true-love,
There laid low.
" When the fire-dreams come,
The wise dreams go. "

B UT HIS CRY IS DROWNED
B Y THE PROUD BAND-MASTER .
And now great gongs whang,
Sharper, faster,
And kettledrums rattle
And hide the shame
With a swish and a swirk
In dead love's name.
Red and crimson
And scarlet and rose
Magical poppies
The sweethearts bloom.
The scarlet stays
When the rose-flush goes,
And love lies low
In a marble tomb.
" 'Tis the
N IGHT
Of doom, "
Call the ding-dong doom-bells.
" N IGHT
Of Doom, "
Call the ding-dong doom-bells.
Hark how the piccolos still make cheer.
" 'Tis a moonlight night in the spring of the year. "
ClangARANGA , CLANGARANGA ,
Clang . . . CLANG . . . CLANG .
Clang . . . A . . . RANGA . . .
Clang . . . A . . . RANGA . . .
Clang . . . CLANG . . . CLANG . . .
L ISTEN . . . TO . . . THE . . . MUSIC . . .
O F . . . THE . . . FIREMEN'S BALL . . .
L ISTEN . . . TO . . . THE . . . MUSIC . . .
O F . . . THE . . . FIREMEN'S . . . BALL . . .

Section Three

I once knew a teacher,
Who turned from desire,
Who said to the young men
" Wine is a fire. "
Who said to the merchants: —
" Gold is a flame
That sears and tortures
If you play at the game. "
I once knew a teacher
Who turned from desire
Who said to the soldiers,
" Hate is a fire. "
Who said to the statesmen: —
" Power is a flame
That flays and blisters
If you play at the game. "
I once knew a teacher
Who turned from desire,
Who said to the lordly,

" Pride is a fire. "
Who thus warned the revellers: —
" Life is a flame.
Be cold as the dew
Would you win at the game
With hearts like the stars,
With hearts like the stars. "
S O BEWARE ,
S O BEWARE ,
S O BEWARE OF THE FIRE .
Clear the streets,
B OOM, BOOM ,
Clear the streets,
B OOM, BOOM ,
G IVE THE ENGINES ROOM ,
G IVE THE ENGINES ROOM ,
L EST SOULS BE TRAPPED
I N A TERRIBLE TOMB .
S AYS THE SWIFT WHITE HORSE
T O THE SWIFT BLACK HORSE : —
" TheRE GOES THE ALARM ,
TheRE GOES THE ALARM .
TheY ARE HITCHED , THEY ARE OFF ,
TheY ARE GONE IN A FLASH ,
A ND THEY STRAIN AT THE DRIVER'S IRON ARM . "
Clang . . . A . . . RANGA . . . . Clang . . . A . . . RANGA . . . .
Clang . . . CLANG . . . CLANG . . . .
Clang . . . A . . . RANGA . . . . Clang . . . A . . . RANGA . . . .
Clang . . . CLANG . . . CLANG . . . .
Clang . . . A . . . RANGA . . . . Clang . . . A . . . RANGA . . . .
Clang . . . CLANG . . . CLANG . . . .