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168
SONGS FOR
BOYHOOD.
THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.
Alfred Tennyson.
Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred. " Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!" ne said :* Into the valley of Death
Rode the sis hundred.
" Forward the Light Brigade!" Was there a man dismayed ? Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blundered. Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do or die: Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left 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 as they turned in air, Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while
All the world wondered. Plunged in the battery smoke, Right through the line they broke : Cossack and Russian Reeled from the sabre-stroke,
Shattered and sundered. Then they rode back, but not,
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them, Volleyed and thuudered.
Stormed at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well Came thro' the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of hell, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade ? Oh, the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered. Houor the charge they made! Honor the Light Brigade!
Noble six hundred!
THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM..
Robert Southet.
It was a summer's evening,
Old Kaspar's work was doue, And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun ; And by him sported on the green His little grandchild, Wilhelmine.
She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round,
Which he beside the rivulet, In playing there, had found.
He came to ask what he had found,
That was so large, and smooth, and round
Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head,
And, with a natural sigh, "'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he,. " Who fell in the great victory!
"I find them in the garden,
For there's many hereabout; And often, when I go to plow,
The plowshare turns them out; For many thousand men," said he, "Were slain in that great victory!"
"Now tell us what 'twas all about,"
Youug Peterkin he cries; And little Wilhelmiue looks up
With wonder-waiting eyes; " Now tell us all about the war, And what they killed each other for ?'"
* Captain Nolan´┐Ż Ed.







E-Book - An Annotated Compendium of Old Time American Songs by James Alverson III