Fankard Peron

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' he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.

'Forward, the Light Brigade!' Was there a man dismay'd? Not tho' the soldiers knew Some one had blunder'd: Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and 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 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.

Flash'd all their sabres bare, Flash'd as they turned in air Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army while All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reel'd from the sabre-stroke Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not, not the six hundred.