The Charge Of The Light Brigade

Half a league, half a league,

      Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

      Rode the six hundred.

"Charge," was the captain's cry;

Their's not to reason why,

Their's not to make reply,

Their's but to do and die,

Into the valley of Death

      Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

      Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well;

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell,

      Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,

Flash'd all at once in air,

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army, while

      All the world wonder'd:

Plunged in the battery-smoke

Fiercely the line they broke;

Strong was the sabre-stroke;

Making an army reel

      Shaken and sunder'd.

Then they rode back, but not,

      Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

      Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

They that had struck so well

Rode thro' the jaws of Death,

Half a league back again,

Up from the mouth of Hell,

All that was left of them,

      Left of six hundred.

Honour the brave and bold!

Long shall the tale be told,

Yea, when our babes are old—

      How they rode onward.

THE END.

LONDON:

BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.