The Charge Of The Light Brigade

Yoyfully, yoyfully,
Yoyfully onvard,
In dis har walley of death
Rode the sax hundred!
It ban a cinch, ay tenk,
Some geezer blundered.
"Hustle, yu Light Brigade!
Yump!" Maester Olson said;
Den in the walley of death
Go the sax hundred.

Cannon on right of dem,
Cannon on left of dem,
Cannon on top of dem,
Wolleyed and t'undered;
Smashed vith dis shot and shal,
Dey ant do wery val;
Most of dem ketching hal, -
Nearly sax hundred!

Yes, all dem sabres bare
Flash purty gude in air;
Each faller feel his hair
Standing. No vonder!
Yudas! It ant ban yob
For any coward slob,
Fighting dis Russian mob.
Ay tenk ay vudn't stand
Yeneral's blunder.

Cannon on right of dem,
Cannon on top of dem,
Cannon behind dem, tu,
Wolleyed and t'undered.
Finally say Captain Brenk,
"Ve got enuff, ay tenk,
Let's go and getting drenk."
'Bout tventy-sax com back
Out of sax hundred.

Ven skol deir glory fade?
It ban gude charge dey made,
Every von vondered.
Every von feeling blue,
'Cause dey ban brave old crew,
Yolly gude fallers, tu,
Dis har sax hundred!

William F. Kirk

William F. Kirk was an American poet and writer, known for his humorous and satirical works. His poetry often reflected the everyday lives and struggles of ordinary people, presented in a light-hearted yet insightful manner. Kirk also wrote prose, contributing to various newspapers and magazines. His works were widely appreciated for their wit and relatability, making him a popular figure in early 20th-century American literature.

William F. Kirk

A Psalm Of Life

William F. Kirk, Simple Poetry

George Washington

William F. Kirk, Simple Poetry

Waterloo

William F. Kirk, Simple Poetry

Sheridan's Ride

William F. Kirk, Simple Poetry

English

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The 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 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,

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Cavalry Charge - Königgrätz

We stood, as the helmeted horsemen
Formed up in the light of the sun;
We knelt, stretching bayonets towards them
As they charged, ere the battle was won.

I marked their young leader apparelled
As daintily as for parade,
A cigarette smoking, advancing
He laughed, as he pointed his blade.

He played with his yellow moustaches,
And looked on our ranks, with a scorn
Such as mantles 'gainst mist and night-vapour
On the brow of the Son of the morn.

He led a bright host where the glitter
Of armour illumined the vale;
As a flood rises slowly, so, coming,
They rode with the sun on their mail.

Thus he steadied his men, and none wavered.
As the steeds settled down to their stride,
And we heard the first rush of the squadrons,
Like th...

John Campbell

Sheridan's Ride

Ef yu ban vise, and ay s'pose yu ban,
Yu know 'bout Yeneral Sheridan;
But maybe yu ant remember the day
Ven he yump on horse, and den he say,
"Ay'm yust about tventy-sax miles avay."

Some rebel fallers ban start big row
In Vinchester. Ay ant know yust how,
But ay tenk dey yump on some Yankee guys,
And trying to give dem gude black eyes.
So Yeneral Sheridan hear dese guns,
And drank some coffee and eat some buns,
And tal dis har landlord, "Gude-by, Yack,
Ay skol paying my bill ven ay com back!"
Den he ride so fast that sune he say,
"Val, now ay ban saxteen miles avay!"

Dese cannons ban roaring gude and loud, -
It ban tough game for dis Yankee crowd;
And Lieut. Olson, he tal his pal,
"'Ay tank we ban due to run lak hal!"
So dey start t...

William F. Kirk

The Charge Of The Heavy Brigade At Balaclava

I

The charge of the gallant three hundred, the Heavy
Brigade
Down the hill, down the hill, thousands of Russians,
Thousands of horsemen, drew to the valley ? and
stayed;
For Scarlett and Scarlett's three hundred were riding by
When the points of the Russian lances arose in the sky;
And he called ?Left wheel into line!? and they wheeled
and obeyed.
Then he looked at the host that had halted he knew
not why,
And he turned half round and he bad his trumpeter
sound
To the charge, and he rode on ahead, as he waved
his blade
To the gallant three hundred those glory will never
fade?
?Follow,? and up the hill, up the hill, up the hill,
Followed the Heavy Brigade.

II

The trumpet, the gallop, the charge, and the might
of t...

Alfred Lord Tennyson

The Defence Of Lucknow

I
Banner of England, not for a season, O banner of Britain, hast thou
Floated in conquering battle or flapt to the battle-cry!
Never with mightier glory than when we had reard thee on high
Flying at top of the roofs in the ghastly siege of Lucknow
Shot thro the staff or the halyard, but ever we raised thee anew,
And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew.

II.
Frail were the works that defended the hold that we held with our lives
Women and children among us, God help them, our children and wives!
Hold it we mightand for fifteen days or for twenty at most.
Never surrender, I charge you, but every man die at his post!
Voice of the dead whom we loved, our Lawrence the best of the brave:
Cold were his brows when we kissd himwe laid him that night in...

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Charge Of "The Black-Horse"

Our columns are broken, defeated, and fled;
We are gathered, a few from the flying and dead,
Where the green flag is up and our wounded remain
Imploring for water and groaning in pain.
Lo the blood-spattered bosom, the shot-shattered limb,
The hand-clutch of fear as the vision grows dim,
The half-uttered prayer and the blood-fettered breath,
The cold marble brow and the calm face of death.
O proud were these forms at the dawning of morn,
When they sprang to the call of the shrill bugle-horn:
There are mothers and wives that await them afar;
God help them! Is this then the glory of war?
But hark! hear the cries from the field of despair;
"The Black-Horse" are charging the fugitives there;
They gallop the field o'er the dying and dead,
And their blades with the blood...

Hanford Lennox Gordon