And ever weaker grows thro' acted crime,
Or seeming-genial venial fault,
Recurring and suggesting still!

He seems as one whose footsteps halt,

Toiling in immeasurable sand,

And o'er a weary sultry land,
Far beneath a blazing vault,

Sown in a wrinkle of the monstrous hill,

The city sparkles like a grain of salt.

THE

CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.

1.

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;
Their's not to reason why,
Their's not to make reply,
Their's but to do and die,

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

2.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volley'd and thunder'd;

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well ;

Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell,

Rode the six hundred.

3.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,

Flash'd all at once in air,

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army, while

All the world wonder'd :

Plunged in the battery-smoke