Classic Poem

Six hundred stalwart warriors of England's pride the best
Did grasp the lance and sabre on Balaclava's crest,
And with their trusty leader, Earl Cardigan the brave,
Dashed through the Russian valley to glory or a grave.
Their foemen stood in thousands, a dark and awful mass,
Beneath their famous strongholds resolved to guard the pass.
Their guns with fierce defiance belched thunders up the vale
Where sat our English horsemen firm beneath their iron gale.

It was a famous story
Proclaim it far and wide
And let your children's children
Re-echo it with pride
How Cardigan the fearless
His name immortal made
When he crossed the Russian valley
With his famous Light Brigade.

Brave Nolan brought the order. ‘O God, can it be true?’
Said Cardigan the fearless, ‘and my brigade so few.
To take those awful cannon from yonder teeming mass,
It's madness, sir, where shall we charge,
What guns bring from the pass?’

The messenger with hauteur looked once upon the earl,
Then pointing to the enemy, his lip began to curl.
‘There, there, my lord, there are your guns
And there your foemen too.’
Then he turned his charger's head away
And bade the earl adieu.

And there were but six hundred 'gainst two score thousand foes,
Hemmed in with furious cannon and crushed with savage blows,
Yet fought they there like heroes for our noble England's fame,
Oh glorious charge, heroic deed, what honour crowns thy name.

Four hundred of those soldiers fell fighting where they stood,
And thus that fatal death vale they enriched with English blood.
Four hundred of those soldiers bequeathed their lives away
For the England they had fought for on that wild October day.