One of the Light Brigade, Ann Rosslyn (date)

A room in a lodging-house dreary,

Where never a comfort is found,

The close of a noble life story,

The great heedless city around;

Yet here in this bare garret chamber,

Where wants grimmest shadows are cast,

You may listen to echoes immortal,

Of a great and glorious past.

See, there on the wall is a picture

Of a scene that shall ne'er pass away,

"Tis Cardigan leading his heroes"

In a battle that thrills us today.

With his glory he sleeps – that great soldier,

Where laurels of England are spread,

While here in a lodging-house garret,

Starves one of the heroes he led.

A hero of honour and glory.

Who dashed on that ride long ago

(Which is deathless in song and in story)

When bent was the pride of the foe.

With the laurels of brave Balaclava,

And of Alma and Inkerman proud,

He lives, by his country forgotten,

With old age and poverty bowed.

On his breast faded bits of old ribbon

Recall many glorious fights,

Once again we are charging the Russians.

And clearing Sebastopol's Heights,

Once again the stern word of duty,

With cannons around them arrayed,

To danger and death, ay, and glory,

Ride onward the famed Light Brigade.

Crowned with wreaths, to the gun's sombre music,

They have laid the dead heroes to rest,

While the living one owns but the ribbons,

And the medals which cover his chest

A status proclaims their achievements,

A garret roof shelters his head,

For the living amongst us may perish

While we lavish our gold on the dead.

But the word has gone forth to the people,

That a wearer of Crimean bays,

Still is living amongst us, and passing

In want at the close of his days,

And our country has heard, and the answer

Now comes in the gleam of its gold,

Which proves that the heart of a Briton

Still honours the brave as of old.

And yet in the lodging-house dreary,

He stands as he stood in the past,

Spite of poverty, ever a hero,

A soldier, a man to the last,

And we live in the past as we listen,

To his record of valour and pride.

The glorious echoes around us.

The great heedless city outside.