69 lines
1.5 KiB
Plaintext
69 lines
1.5 KiB
Plaintext
Charge of the Light Brigade
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Alfred Tennyson
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(1809 - 1892)
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Half a league, half a league,
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Half a league onward,
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All in the valley of Death
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Rode the six hundred.
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"Forward, the Light Brigade!
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Charge for the guns!" he said:
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Into the valley of Death
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Rode the six hundred.
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"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
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Was there a man dismayed?
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Not tho' the soldiers knew
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Someone had blundered:
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Theirs was not to make reply,
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Theirs was not to reason why,
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Theirs was but to do and die:
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Into the valley of Death
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Rode the six hundred.
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Cannon to the right of them,
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Cannon to the left of them,
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Cannon in front of them
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Volleyed and thunder'd;
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Storm'd at with shot and shell,
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Boldly they rode and well,
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Into the jaws of Death,
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Into the mouth of Hell,
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Rode the six hundred.
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Flashed all their sabres bare,
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Flashed as they turned in air,
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Sab'ring the gunners there,
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Charging and army, while
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All the world wondered:
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Plunging in the battery smoke,
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Right through the line they broke;
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Cossack and Russian
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Reeled from the sabre-stroke
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Shattered and sundered.
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Then they rode back, but not--
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Not the six hundred.
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Cannon to the right of them,
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Cannon to the left of them,
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Cannon in front of them
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Volleyed and thundered;
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Stormed at with shot and shell,
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While horse and hero fell,
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They that fought so well,
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Came thro' the jaws of Death,
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Back from the mouth of Hell,
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All that was left of them,
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Left of the six hundred.
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When can their glory fade?
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Oh, the wild charge they made!
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All the world wondered.
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Honor the charge they made!
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Honor the Light Brigade,
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Noble Six Hundred!
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