Explore "The Strike of the Fireworks" by Carolyn Wells on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
'Twas the night before the Fourth of July, the people slept serene; / The fireworks were stored in the old town hall that stood / on the village green. / The steeple clock tolled the midnight hour, and at its final stroke, / The fire in the queer old-fashioned stove lifted its voice and spoke; / "The earth and air have naught to do, the water, too, may play, / And only fire is made to work on Independence Day.
"I won't stand such injustice! It's wrong, beyond a doubt, / And I shall take my holiday. Good-by, I'm going out! " / Up spoke a Roman candle then, "The principle is right! / Suppose we strike, and all agree we will not work to-night! " / "My stars! " said a small sky-rocket. "What an awful time there'll be, / When the whole town comes together to-night, the great display to see! " / "Let them come," said a saucy pinwheel, "yes, let them come if they like, / As a delegate I'll announce to them that the fireworks / are going to strike! " / "My friends," said a small cap-pistol, "this movement is all wrong, -- / Gunpowder, noise, and fireworks to Fourth of July belong. / My great ancestral musket made Independence Day, / I frown on your whole conspiracy, and you are wrong, I say!"