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To the gallant three hundred whose glory
will never die • Follow,' and up the hill, up the hill, up
the hill, Follow'd the Heavy Brigade.
While squirrels from our fiery beech
Were bearing off the mast, You came, and look'd and loved the view
Long-known and loved by me, Green Sussex fading into blue
With one gray glimpse of sea;
We spoke of what had been
Crimean eyes had seen;
Some warrior for a sign
True cheer with honest wine -
Nor utter'd word of blame,
These rhymings with your name,
I fain would meet again, Yet know you, as your England knows That you
When, in the vanish'd year,
Flare from Tel-el-Kebir
And Wolseley overthrew Arâbi, and the stars in heaven
Paled, and the glory grew.
The trumpet, the gallop, the charge, and
the might of the fight ! Thousands of horsemen had gather'd there
on the height, With a wing push'd out to the left and a
wing to the right, And who shall escape if they close ? but he
dash'd up alone Thro' the great gray slope of men, Sway'd his sabre, and held his own Like an Englishman there and then. All in a moment follow'd with force Three that were next in their fiery course, Wedged themselves in between horse and
horse, Fought for their lives in the narrow gap
they had madeFour amid thousands ! and up the hill, up
the hill, Gallopt the gallant three hundred, the
THE CHARGE OF THE HEAVY
BRIGADE AT BALACLAVA
OCTOBER 25, 1854
The charge of the gallant three hundred,
the Heavy Brigade ! Down the hill, down the hill, thousands of
Russians, Thousands of horsemen, drew to the valley
- and stay'd; For Scarlett and Scarlett's three hundred
were riding by When the points of the Russian lancés
arose in the sky; And he call'd, · Left wheel into line !' and
they wheel’d and obey'd. Then he look'd at the host that had halted
he knew not why, And he turn'd half round, and he bade his
trumpeter sound To the charge, and he rode on ahead as he
waved his blade
Fell like a cannon-shot,
right, And roll’d them around like a cloud, 0, mad for the charge and the battle were
we, When our own good redcoats sank from
sight, Like drops of blood in a dark-gray sea, And we turn’d to each other, whispering,
all dismay'd, • Lost are the gallant three hundred of
Scarlett's Brigade !'
• Lost one and all' were the words
Yet tho this cheek be gray, Mutter'd in our dismay;
And that bright hair the modern sun, But they rode like victors and lords
Those eyes the blue to-day, Thro' the forest of lances and swords You wrong me, passionate little friend. In the heart of the Russian hordes,
I would that wars should cease, They rode, or they stood at bay
I would the globe from end to end Struck with the sword-hand and slew,
Might sow and reap in peace, Down with the bridle-hand drew
And some new Spirit o'erbear the old, The foe from the saddle and threw
Or Trade re-frain the Powers Underfoot there in the fray
From war with kindly links of gold, Ranged like a storm or stood like a rock Or Love with wreaths of flowers. In the wave of a stormy day;
Slav, Teuton, Kelt, I count them all Till suddenly shock upon shock
My friends and brother souls, Stagger'd the mass from without,
With all the peoples, great and small, Drove it in wild disarray,
That wheel between the poles. For our men gallopt up with a cheer and But since our mortal shadow, Ill, a shout,
To waste this earth began And the foeman surged, and waver'd, and Perchance from some abuse of Will reel'd
In worlds before the man Up the hill, up the hill, up the hill, out of | Involving ours he needs must fight the field,
To make true peace his own, And over the brow and away.
He needs must combat might with might,
Or Might would rule alone;
And who loves war for war's own sake Glory to each and to all, and the charge Is fool, or crazed, or worse; that they made !
But let the patriot-soldier take Glory to all the three hundred, and all the His meed of fame in verse; Brigade !
Nay - tho' that realm were in the wrong
For which her warriors bleed, Note. — The three hundred’of the ' Heavy It still were right to crown with song Brigade' who made this famous charge were The warrior's noble deed the Scots Greys and the 2d squadron of Innis- A crown the Singer hopes may last, killens ; the remainder of the “Heavy Bri- For so the deed endures; gade' subsequently dashing up to their sup
But Song will vanish in the Vast; port.
And that large phrase of yours
• A star among the stars,' my dear, orderly, who had been close behind him.
Is girlish talk at best;
As he did half in jest,
Old Horace ? •I will strike,' said he, EPILOGUE
• The stars with head sublime,' But scarce could see, as now we see,
The man in space and time,
Than ours, who rhyme to-day.
Yon myriad-worlded way
The vast sun-clusters' gather'd blaze,
World-isles in lonely skies,
Whole heavens within themselves, amaze You praise when you should blame Our brief humanities. The barbarism of wars.
And so does Earth; for Homer's fame, A juster epoch has begun.
Tho' carved in barder stone
The falling drop will make his name
As mortal as my own.
Thou that singest wheat and woodland,
tilth and vineyard, hive and horse
and herd; All the charm of all the Muses
often flowering in a lonely word;
Let it live then - ay, till when ?
Sun-flame or sunless frost,
Away, and all in vain
The man himself remain;
Too many a voice may cry
Not yet of those am I.
He wrought of good or brave
That dawns behind the grave.
Poet of the happy Tityrus
piping underneath his beechen bow
ers; Poet of the poet-satyr
whom the laughing shepherd bound
Chanter of the Pollio, glorying,
in the blissful years again to be, Summers of the snakeless meadow,
unlaborious earth and oarless sea;
And here the Singer for his art
Not all in vain may plead • The song that nerves a nation's heart
Is in itself a deed.'
VI Thou that seest Universal
Nature moved by Universal Mind; Thou majestic in thy sadness
at the doubtful doom of human
Then glided a vulturous beldam forth,
That on dumb death had thriven; They callid her •Reverence' here upon
earth, And “The Curse of the Prophet' in
His wife and his child stood by him in
tears, But she — she push'd them aside.