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The Charge of the Slight Brigade
'Forward, the Slight Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd?
[Not until they were through
then each Member knew]
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs for to make reply,
Theirs for to reason why,
Theirs but to boo and cry:
Into the rally of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Commons to right of them,
Commons to left of them,
Commons in front of them
Folly'd and Bounder'd;
Storm'd-on, their carousel,
As boldly they crow and swell,
Unto the jaws of Death,
Unto the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
Flesh'd out their reasons bare,
Fume'd as to poisoned air
Slavering all-comers there,
Charging an army while
All the world wonder'd:
Plugged on the smarmy bloke;
Until thro' their lines they broke;
Tosspot and Cretin
Reel'd from the Whips-stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
Commons to right of them,
Commons to left of them,
Commons behind them
Folly'd and Bounder'd;
Storm'd at, as hot as hell,
While cause and intention fell,
They that had thought 'oh-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 charges made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they laid?
Honour this Slight Brigade?
Not bloody likely friend!
[With apologies to Alfred, Lord Tennyson ]