Alfred, Lord Tennyson wrote The Charge of the Light Brigade in 1854 after reading a report in the paper about the Battle of Balaclava during the Crimean War.
Tennyson read of how the cavalry (‘Light Brigade’) charged on despite being barraged by artillery, eventually being forced to retreat and losing hundreds of men, and many others wounded or captured. The news clearly struck Tennyson and he felt the need to write his rhythmical and powerful poem that many associate with him to this day.
It is said that Tennyson wrote the poem in one sitting, with barely any editing after.
A recording exists of the poet reading Charge of the Light Brigade aloud– however, the quality is low as it was made over a century ago and the wax cylinder has deteriorated due to age and use.
Still, it is fascinating to hear his voice from all those years ago.
The Charge of the Light Brigade by Alfred Lord 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!” he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the soldier knew
Someone 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 turn’d 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.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d 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?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.
Birmingham Poet, Benjamin Zephaniah dies, aged 65
