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Monday, March 10, 2014

Tennyson: The Charge of the Light Brigade

The Relief of the Light Brigade, 25 October 1854
oil on canvas, 1897
by Richard Caton Woodville Jr.
London National Army Museum
no copyright infringement intended

One of the most spectacular of military disasters, surrounded by controversy as to its cause, the tragic Charge of the British Light Brigade along the valley of death under murderous fire from the Russian guns was genuinely heroic. The legend of the Gallant Six Hundred remains deeply rooted in the public mind today, some 150 years later.
Contemporary pictures of the Charge are few and they fail to convey more than a distant bird's-eye view of the action. It was left to the most dramatic exponent of military art in the late-Victorian era, Richard Caton Woodville Jr., to capture the supreme moment of the Charge, when the British troopers, depleted by the murderous fire of Russian artillery overlooking their route, finally arrived at the far end of the valley to cross swords with the enemy.

Lord Tennyson created his celebrated poem in the very year of the battle, 1854:


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 soldiers knew
Some one 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 turned 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 wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!







(Tennyson)

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