Sweet Night! hath fled: — up the bright Eastern sky;

Day walks with his own wonted majesty!

And Sol looks adown on each line of men,

With his bright golden smile; till ev'ry glen

Hath a smiling face; with rich beauty dight;

Unconscious that it will now see a fight,

Which shall burn, in the annals of war, a light,

Whose brilliancy never, never shall die,

While Man wields the sword; 'neath the azure sky!

Come, ye brave men! — by the light of this day

We'll ride through yon vale, up the hills, away,

Far away, beside of the bubbling rills;

Anent, the waving woods, and the wild hills. —

Yes: there, by those streamlets and woods so gay;

We'll sing great Bellona! a battle lay;

And pray her blessing, on us, through the day.

See! see! dauntless Nolan! with lightning speed

Eides o'er yon hill on his favourite steed. —

Back, in breathless haste, to Raglan he comes —

"On ev'ry height sound the enemy's drums."

Now his eye is all fire — his heart seems still —

Raglan rides forth to the brow of the hill —

Descries by his glass our enemies fill

Balaclava's vale, and her hills afar,

Now, flashes the light of his eye, like a star.

The order his [is] given: — how wise we can't say:

The wisdom or error rests with his clay: —

Away they go: in splendid still they ride:

Lo! their glist'ning lances smile at their side;

As each man rides to death with heroic pride!

Through a murderous fire of shot and shell;

From the tow'ring hills that ring with the yell

Of fiendish Cossacks; — while, now and again; —

Flash the Artillery, o'er hillock and plain.

The Seventeenth! lead the way through the vale: —

The Russians look on them death — grim and pale:

But, — The Seventeenth Lancers! know not a fear!

The Brave Seventeenth! ride to death with a cheer!

O God! preserve them: — see! see how they ride!

While anon roar the waves in the bay outside!

Hark! — hark! — 'tis the thunder-like cannon's voice —

Behold I see brave Clevland! our flower choice;

Riding along with his own wonted smile;

To cheer on his men to their fun'ral pile: —

To which, brave heroes! — they each and all go:

Nor fear wild Cossack, nor mad Russian foe —

Yet ling'ring moments — fly quick away —

Let British daring shine a star to day,

Whose lustre shall glisten in ev'ry fight:

On land or on sea: by day or by night!

Let Britannia's sons prove worthy their Queen!

Who ever prays for their safety I ween!

Let Victory! ride before ev'ry line;

And rest with our men beneath ev'ry pine;

And on their brave hearts eternally shine!

Lo! through the sad air, comes a fire — clad ball:

On which grim Death sits — 'tis Nolan's death call —

The ball strikes his heart — his horse rears — gives a neigh —

And dauntless Nolan's brave soul flies away.

Still, on ride the Light Brigade! — yes — on — on —

Foremost in the ranks Devonia's brave son!

Bides, like a vet'ran, — his battle — blade high:

While beneath, and around him, comrades lie;

Some dying — some dead — some longing to die.

The sight's awfully grand! — now up yon hill

They ride to their death — Oh! my heart — be still:

Hold! hold ye, for awhile; — ah, me! — I ken —

Those hills, and these vales, will now see our men,

Fearless of meeting grim Death, and the grave;

By the hands of a brutal Russian slave,

In Balaclava's death — vale; or in her blue wave.

See! — they fight — they fight — Great God! save our men —

And bring brave Clevland! safe out of the glen. —

List! — list to the clash of their blood — deck'd swords!

See! — the half — drunk Russians utt'ring foul words

Fall alow at their guns — On! — on ye brave!

Dear Old England's Banners above ye wave!

The fight is yours! — great Bellona! doth say

Your daring courage wins Victory's bay!

Then, — on! — on ye brave hearts! — nor fear to meet

On his unseen wings — so blighting — so fleet —

Grim Death! as he flies through this dread retreat.

The combat deepens: Behold! the red stream

Leaps adown the hills, like a fearful dream

Leaps through the brain, till it makes the warm heart

Throb apace, as if it were shot by a dart.

See! adown ev'ry lance, so silv'ry white;

Flows, like a spirit, the crimson flood bright.

Lo! by yon broken wheel, near cannon's breast,

Falls a grey — headed vet'ran — his head doth rest

On his charger's white neck, whose fi'ry eye

Looks down on its rider; who gives a loud sigh;

As he looks, with death — kiss'd eyes to the sky.

Anon his head falls on his charger's neck, —

So snowy white, it shows each tiny speck

Of his bright red blood, — yes; it falls to die

Now an old comrade falls adown hard by —

Now each murd'rous cannon sends forth a ball —

It ploughs the ranks — our heroic men fall —

Not to die! — but to live! — yes, live for aye!

In our hearts and our annals! — our speach and our lay!

The combat hath now well-nigh reach'd its height.

O God! let our men be victors ere night

Of this bloody battle; that, like to waves

Mad from the blue cavern where Neptune raves,

Ingulphs our brave men; in cold Russian graves.

How fierce the fire! — see! how fast the blood flows!

List to the loud yell of our fiendish foes! —

Hold! — hold my wild heart! — list! — see! — it is done —

Yes: — ev'ry gunner lies low at his gun —

List! beside each man his horse gives a death — neigh —

O fearful moment! awful melee! —

Where are the reserves ? — alas! — alas! — where? —

Thousands of wild Cossacks, like blood — hounds, dare

To charge our heroes — O God! give them strength;

And safe, through this valley of death at length,

Bring the Light Brigade! — the e'er dauntless few!

Led by brave Cardigan! whose heart's e'er true!

Who nor fears a Russian, nor any such foe;

But is, e'er able, to lay him alow! —

They come: — with lightning speed — back — back they come

Through walls of fire; — whose fierce-whizzing flames hum

With the fearful — awful message of death —

Now the Light Brigade heroes hold their breath:

Their brave hearts seem still — as the wild flames rise

Like majestic sprites, to the awe — struck skies —

Still, on! on they ride! — the bravest of men! —

Up — up — they come through the deep bloody glen:

Lo! Brave Clevland! comes: — See Devonia's Pride!

With his reeking sword — with his bleeding side —

Now, list to the Russians! — how loud they rave!

Like to spirits loosed from hell's deepest cave —

They've lost The Young Hero! — his brav'ry now,

Like a gleaming halo around his brow;

Kindles the last flame in their savage hearts —

See! three fiendish Cossacks, like death — wing'd darts,

Fly around him now — but, his arm, we know,

Is able to lay each Cossack alow! —

Round his fav'rite steed — behold the Cossacks now! —

One, his charger's head holds, and breathes a vow;

And one, a moment, lifts his powerless lance;

Then falls quick adown 'neath brave Clevland's glance;

With his up — lifted sword — still wet with blood —

He cuts down the third and fords the red flood —

Up — up — he comes — thank God! he's safe — I ken —

Rejoice, O England! for such daring men!