It was a great occasion--every seat
Was filled and jewels sparkled rich and bright--
One almost heard each throbbing heart that beat
As the orchestra filed in that gala night.
The music flared in one triumphal blast,
The leader swung his baton: the curtain rose:
Then the soprano sang of bright skies overcast,
And silence fell upon the watching rows.
Just at that moment, some one in the crowd
Saw wisps of black smoke curl around a board.
He shouted "fire!" It was as though a shroud
Was flung around them by a righteous Lord.
The crowd surged forth like streams that over-flow--
And ran amuck, insane with fear and rage....
Just then an unknown player of the piccolo
Upclambered o'er the footlights to the stage:
"Hold! Hold!" he cried, and waved his piccolo;
"Be calm! There is no danger, if you're quiet!"
Then through the Opera House there echoed low
Such music as would calm the greatest riot.
They faltered, then they heeded his desire,
Then paused to hearken with suspended breath,
And spellbound listened through that awful fire
Till every one of them was burned to death.