"Forward the Light Brigade!" Was there a man dismay'd? Not though the soldiers knew Some one had blunder'd: Their's not to make reply; Their's not to reason why; Their's 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; 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. 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; Plung'd in the battery-smoke, Right through 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? Oh, the wild charge they made! All the world wonder'd. Honour the charge they made, Honour the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred! _Alfred, Lord Tennyson._