THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE, AT BALAKLAVA. HALF a league, half a league, All in the valley of Death, Into the valley of Death Rode the Six Hundred ; "Forward, the Light Brigade!' Some one had blundered: THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. Sabring the gunners there, All the world wondered. Cannon to right of them, Cannon behind them, Volleyed and thundered. Stormed at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell, Those that had fought so well Came from the jaws of Death, Left of Six Hundred. When can their glory fade? Noble Six Hundred ! ALFRED TENNYSON. CRADLE SONG. WHAT is the little one thinking about? Unwritten history! Unfathomed mystery! Yet he chuckles, and crows, and nods, and winks, As if his head were as full of kinks Where the Summers go: He need not laugh, for he'll find it so! Who can tell what a baby thinks? Who can follow the gossamer links By which the manikin feels his way Out from the shore of the great unknown, Into the light of day? Out from the shore of the unknown sea, Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls, Specked with the barks of little souls: CRADLE SONG. Barks that were launched on the other side, Cup of his life and couch of his rest? What does he think when her quick embrace Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell, Words she has learned to murmur well? I can see the shadow creep JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND. |