 | Poems: Second Series |  |
182
THE HEAVY BRIGADE.
Oct. 1854.
The word was given: I held my breath:
There stood the enemy—ten to one:
No time to dream about wounds or death:
The greater the odds, the fiercer the fun.
There stood the enemy—ten to one:
No time to dream about wounds or death:
The greater the odds, the fiercer the fun.
Our Colonel led us, and off we dashed:
Hope thrilled our hearts as the gallop began:
Hope rose to rapture as in we crashed,
Charger on charger, and man on man.
Hope thrilled our hearts as the gallop began:
Hope rose to rapture as in we crashed,
Charger on charger, and man on man.
It is ringing yet—the wild Irish cheer—
The wild free yell that rose on our right:
And the Greys beside me—ah! yes I hear
Their low deep long-drawn moan of delight.
The wild free yell that rose on our right:
And the Greys beside me—ah! yes I hear
Their low deep long-drawn moan of delight.
Straight as an arrow that cleaves its way
Into the heart of the stubborn wood—
Each drove his steed on the dense array,
Piercing the Russian ranks as they stood.
Into the heart of the stubborn wood—
Each drove his steed on the dense array,
Piercing the Russian ranks as they stood.
183
A few bright minutes of flashing steel—
Clashing and flashing to right and left:
My blood flowed fast, but I could not feel—
Though I knew when shako and skull were cleft.
Clashing and flashing to right and left:
My blood flowed fast, but I could not feel—
Though I knew when shako and skull were cleft.
These long grey cloaks—how they foiled our blows,
Baffling our blades as we drove them in—
Till mad with rage in our stirrups we rose,
And heads were cloven from crown to chin.
Baffling our blades as we drove them in—
Till mad with rage in our stirrups we rose,
And heads were cloven from crown to chin.
A yell of triumph on either side,
That nerved each arm for a weightier blow!
And, full and fresh as a surging tide,
New squadrons rolled on the flagging foe.
That nerved each arm for a weightier blow!
And, full and fresh as a surging tide,
New squadrons rolled on the flagging foe.
A minute more—then a ringing cheer—
The dense grey mass was riven in twain:
We passed beyond it into the clear,
And formed and rallied and charged again.
The dense grey mass was riven in twain:
We passed beyond it into the clear,
And formed and rallied and charged again.
Back through the throng with a sterner shout:
Then came the moment for which we bled:
The deep ranks wavered and opened out,
Swayed, reeled and scattered, and broke and fled.
Then came the moment for which we bled:
The deep ranks wavered and opened out,
Swayed, reeled and scattered, and broke and fled.
| Poems: Second Series | |