Go and look at the melodramatic stage,
When a “spectacle” piece is all the rage;
And there, in the midst of some “property” storm,
While the sheet-iron thunder is rattling its best,
And the rosin lightning, and all the rest
Of the elements are, for some tragedy-reason,
Making the “awfullest gale of the season—”
See, at the sound of the prompter’s tap,
The fiend come up through the “Vampyre trap;”
Take a mental photograph then, and there,