The Fourth of July in Town

[Being the Lament of a Poet who couldn't get away. The
reader will observe that each verse is concluded by an explosive
refrain, from the firearms without.]

I REALLY don't know what to do
('T was thus a Poet sang)
Amid this dreadful hubaboo
That drives me crazy
(Bang!)

I did not wish in town to stay;
It cost me quite a pang
To find I couldn't get away,
But fate is cruel
(Bang!)

The streets are filled with smoke and noise,
And everywhere a gang
Of ruffian men and rowdy boys
Are firing pistols
(Bang!)

Ah! out of town the air is sweet,
Where nodding roses hang
Above the brook that laves their feet,
But here't is horrid -
(Bang!)

In every public place and hall
The orators harangue,
Amid a dun and dusky pall
Of smoke and sulphur
(Bang!)

Whatever patriots may say,
With all their buncombe slang,
In town, this Independence Day
Is but a nuisance —
(Bang!)

'T was well enough, when into birth
Our Independence sprang;
But this!'t is Tophet here on earth -
(Crack! crash!! whang!!!
clang!!!! slamn-bang!!!!!)