Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turned in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd;
Plunged in the battery smoke
Right thro' the line they broke,
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd 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,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
O, the wild charge they made.
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
AFTER BALACLAVA,
BY JAMES WILLIAMS.
The fierce wild charge was over; back to old England's shore
Were borne her gallant troopers, who ne'er would battle more;
In hospital at Chatham, by Medway's banks they lay,
Dragoon, hussar, and lancer, survivors of the fray.
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