Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky;-- Beneath it rung the battle shout, And burst the cannon's roar; The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more. Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe, When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, And waves were white below, No more shall feel the victor's tread, Or know the conquered knee; The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea! O, better that her shattered hulk Should sink beneath the wave! Her thunders shook the mighty deep, And there should be her grave! Nail to the mast her holy flag, Set every threadbare sail, And give her to the god of storms-- The lightning and the gale! O. W. Holmes. CCXIX. CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 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 dismayed? Not though the soldier knew Some one 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. 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.