The Firemen’s Ball
by
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 that he stands,
[# To be read, or chanted, with the heavy
buzzing bass of fire-engines pumping. #]
The reins in his hands,
In the fire-chief’s place
In the night alarm chase.
The cymbals whang,
The kettledrums bang:–
[# In this passage the reading or
chanting is shriller and higher. #]
“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.
[# To be read or chanted in a heavy bass. #]
“‘Tis the
NIGHT
Of doom,”
Say the ding-dong doom-bells.
“NIGHT
Of doom,”
Say the ding-dong doom-bells.
Faster, faster
The red flames come.
“Hum grum,” say the engines,
“Hum grum grum.”
[# Shriller and higher. #]
“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.
[# Heavy bass. #]
“‘Tis the
NIGHT
Of doom,”
Say the ding-dong doom-bells.
“NIGHT
Of doom,”
Say the ding-dong doom-bells.
Whangaranga, whangaranga,
Whang, whang, whang,
Clang, clang, clangaranga,
[# Bass, much slower. #]
Clang, clang, clang.
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.)
[# To be read or sung slowly and softly,
in the manner of lustful, insinuating music. #]
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
[# To be read or chanted slowly and softly
in the manner of lustful insinuating music. #]
When the good dreams go?
“‘Tis the
NIGHT
Of love,”
Call the silver joy-bells,
“NIGHT
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.