THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.— Tennyson. 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, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs not to make reply, Theirs but to do and die : Into the valley of death Rode the Six Hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well; Into the jaws of death, Into the mouth of hell, Rode the Six Hundred. Flashed all their sabres bare, Flashed all at once in air, All the world wondered: Making an army reel Shaken and sundered. Then they rode back, but not— Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell, They that had struck so well Rode through the jaws of death, Half a league back again, Up from the mouth of hell, All that was left of themLeft of Six Hundred. Honour the brave and bold! PAST AND PRESENT.-Hood. I REMEMBER, I remember, I remember, I remember, I remember, I remember, And summer pools could hardly cool I remember, I remember, To know I'm further off from heaven, HONEST POVERTY.—Burns. Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that; The coward-slave we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that. For a' that, and a' that, Our toils obscure, and a' that, What though on hamely fare we dine, Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that; The honest man, though e'er sae poor, A prince can mak a belted knight, Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher ranks than a' that. Then let us pray, that come it may, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, It's coming yet, for a' that, HOHENLINDEN.-Campbell. ON Linden, when the sun was low, But Linden saw another sight, By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, Each horseman drew his battle blade, And furious every charger neighed To join the dreadful revelry. I remember, I remember, And thought the air must rush as fresh And summer pools could hardly cool I remember, I remember, To know I'm further off from heaven, HONEST POVERTY.-Burns. Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that; Our toils obscure, and a' that, What though on hamely fare we dine, For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that; The honest man, though e'er sae poor, |