Men will forget what we suffer, and not what we do; we can fight! But to be soldier all day, and be sentinel all thro' the night-- Ever the mine and assault, our sallies, their lying alarms, Bugles and drums in the darkness, and shoutings and soundings to arms; Ever the labor of fifty that had to be done by five; Ever the marvel among us that one should be left alive; Ever the day with its traitorous death from the loopholes around; Ever the night with its coffinless corpse to be laid in the ground; Heat like the mouth of a hell, or a deluge of cataract skies, Stench of old offal decaying, and infinite torment of flies, Thoughts of the breezes of May blowing over an English field, Cholera, scurvy, and fever, the wound that would not be healed; Lopping away of the limb by the pitiful, pitiless knife-- Torture and trouble in vain-for it never could save us a life. Valor of delicate women who tended the hospital bed; Horror of women in travail among the dying and dead; Grief for our perishing children, and never a moment for grief, Toil and ineffable weariness, faltering hopes of relief; Havelock baffled, or beaten, or butchered for all that we knew-- Then day and night, day and night coming down on the still shatter'd walls Millions of musket-bullets and thousands of cannon-balls; But ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. VII Hark, cannonade, fusillade! Is it true what was told by the scout, Outram and Havelock breaking their way thro' the fell mutineers? Surely the pibroch of Europe is ringing again in our ears! All on a sudden the garrison utter a jubilant shout, Havelock's glorious Highlanders answer with conquering cheers, Sick from the hospital echo them, women and children come out, Blessing the wholesome white faces of Havelock's good fusileers, Kissing the war-hardened hand of the Highlander, wet with their tears! Dance to the pibroch! Saved! We are saved! Is it you? Is it you? Saved by the valor of Havelock; saved by the blessing of heaven! "Hold it for fifteen days!" We have held it for eighty-seven! And ever aloft on the palace roof the old banner of England blew. THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALAKLAVA [In a letter to the London Times Mr. W. H. Russell, the war correspondent, described the charge of the Light Brigade at Balaklava, one of the most notable incidents of the Crimean War.]