4

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 through 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.

5

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 through the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,

Left of six hundred.

6

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 !

A. Tennyson

LXXXVIII

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND

YE

mariners of England,

That guard our

native seas;

Whose flag has braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze!

Your glorious standard launch again,
To match another foe!

And sweep through the deep,

While the stormy winds do blow;

While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from every wave!

For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave:

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,

While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,

Her home is on the deep.

With thunders from her native oak,

She quells the floods below,

As they roar on the shore,

When the stormy winds do blow;

When the battle rages loud and long,

And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;

Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.

Then, then, ye ocean warriors!

Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,

When the storm has ceased to blow :

When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow.

T. Campbell

LXXXIX

NAPOLEON AND THE SAILOR

N

A True Story

APOLEON'S banners at Boulogne Arm'd in our island every freeman, His navy chanced to capture one Poor British seaman.

They suffer'd him- I know not how
Unprison'd on the shore to roam;
And aye was bent his longing brow
On England's home.

His eye, methinks, pursued the flight
Of birds to Britain half-way over;
With envy they could reach the white
Dear cliffs of Dover.

A stormy midnight watch, he thought,

Than this sojourn would have been dearer, If but the storm his vessel brought

To England nearer.

At last, when care had banish'd sleep,

He saw one morning-dreaming-doating,

An empty hogshead from the deep

Come shoreward floating;

He hid it in a cave, and wrought

The livelong day laborious; lurking Until he launch'd a tiny boat

By mighty working.

Heaven help us ! 't was a thing beyond
Description wretched: such a wherry
Perhaps ne'er ventur'd on a pond,

Or cross'd a ferry.

For ploughing in the salt sea-field,

It would have made the boldest shudder; Untarr'd, uncompass'd, and unkeel'd,

From neighboring woods he interlaced
His sorry skiff with wattled willows;
And thus equipp'd he would have pass'd
The foaming billows -

But Frenchmen caught him on the beach,
His little Argo sorely jeering;

Till tidings of him chanced to reach

Napoleon's hearing.

With folded arms Napoleon stood,
Serene alike in peace and danger;
And in his wonted attitude,
Address'd the stranger:

'Rash man that wouldst yon channel pass On twigs and staves so rudely fashion'd; Thy heart with some sweet British lass Must be impassion'd.'

'I have no sweetheart,' said the lad;

6 But

absent long from one anotherGreat was the longing that I had To see my mother.'

'And so thou shalt,' Napoleon said,
'Ye've both my favour fairly won;
A noble mother must have bred
So brave a son.'

He gave the tar a piece of gold,

And with a flag of truce commanded He should be shipp'd to England Old, And safely landed.

Our sailor oft could scantly shift

To find a dinner plain and hearty; But never changed the coin and gift Of Bonaparte.

T. Campbell