The Charge Of The Light Brigade

I

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.

II

“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
….Someone had blundered.
….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.

III

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.

IV

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.

V

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
….Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell.
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
….Left of six hundred.

VI

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
….All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
….Noble six hundred!
.

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1809-1892

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About The Poem:

I’m currently featuring a series of poems for Tuesday themed around “war.” What I’ve said on past Tuesdays is: ” because I believe poetry often encapsulates the realism of war and has done so, in terms of modern poetry, for the past century.”

The rider ‘for the past century” is critical, because I think the poetry arising out of World War 1 marked a real change from the poetry that had preceded it, which far more often celebrated the glory of war, even in the case of a suicidal change like that of the Light Brigade at Balaclava in 1854 — also the year the poem was written and published. The poem makes a virtue of necessity: that the soldiers knew they were doomed, but being required to obey orders, they charged anyway.

While it does stir the heart still, I also feel it is true to say that the poetry that arose out of World War 1, most notably of Wilfrid Owen marked a turning point: from then to now, poetry has focused far more on recording the reality of war, rather than celebrating doomed charges resulting in significant loss of life. Or to quote the allied French Marshal, Pierre Bosquet, at the time:  “C’est magnifique, mais ce n’est pas la guerre.” (“It is magnificent, but it is not war.”) He is said to have added: “C’est de la folie” — “It is madness.”

Perhaps, though, Wilfrid Owen still said it best, in terms of the relationship between poetry and war:

“My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity.”

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