Tag Archives: Victorian Poetry

“The Charge of the Light Brigade” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson [w/ Audio]

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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 soldier 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;
 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 turn'd 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!

“Meeting at Night” by Robert Browning [w/ Audio]

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I
The grey sea and the long black land;
 And the yellow half-moon large and low;
 And the startled little waves that leap
 In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
 As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
 And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.

II
Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
 Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
 A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
 And blue spurt of a lighted match,
 And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears,
 Than the two hearts beating each to each!

“The Splendour Falls” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson [w/ Audio]

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The splendour falls on castle walls
          And snowy summits in old story:
     The long light shakes across the lakes,
          And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
 Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
 Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
          And thinner, clearer, farther going!
     O sweet and far from cliff and scar
          The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
 Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:
 Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky,
          They faint on hill or field or river:
     Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
           And grow for ever and for ever.
 Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
 And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying,