Balaclava, Balaclava,
Far thy still and grassy plain
Thick is strewn with England's bravest,
High is heaped with England's slain;
Shot and shell have done their work well;
They shall never charge again,
Balaclava, Balaclava,
O'er thy still and grassy plain.
Balaclava, Balaclava,
Fast the foes, across thy plain,
Foot and horse, and battery hurried,
From our hold thy port to gain;
On they pressed, they thought to triumph.
On their squadrons pressed in vain.
Balaclava, Balaclava,
Pressed to death across thy plain.
On that bright October morning,
From thy hills across thy plain,
Fast we saw their squadrons pouring,
Saw the scared Turk fly in vain,
Shelter from the savage Cossack,
Flying towards our ranks to gain,
Balaclava, Balaclava,
Falling fast along thy plain.
From thy mountain gorges pouring.
Pouring onward o'er thy plain,
Forward swept the Russian squadrons.
On their horsemen swept in vain;
In their forward path, the Campbell
Stretched his Scots, and piled their slain.
Balaclava, Balaclava,
Piled them thick upon thy plain.
From thy mountain gorges pouring.
Pouring onward o'er thy plain,
Forward swept their squares of horsemen.
On, their horsemen swept in vain;
Scot and Enniskillen met them.
Hot their sheltering guns to gain.
Balaclava, Balaclava,
Fast they fled across thy plain.
Then it was, when victory crowned us,
Madness made that victory vain;
Curses on the lordly blindness
Then, that launched us to be slain!
Curses on the idiot blindness
Then, that bade us charge in vain,
Balaclava, Balaclava,
Charge to death across thy plain!
"Forward!" was the fatal order;
"Charge! the captured guns regain!"
Not a man but knew that order
Madly sent him to he slain;
Not a man but knew that surely
On he went a grave to gain,
Balaclava, Balaclava,
Flung to death across thy plain.
Yet though death lay sure before us,
Death lay surely there in vain;
Not a man a moment lingered;
None in that dread charge drew rein.
Teeth we clenched, and brows we knitted.
Strung our nerves to fierce disdain.
Balaclava, Balaclava,
Scorn of death upon thy plain.
Then swept o'er us, then swept through us.
Grape and shell, and, lane on lane,
Tore the shattering round-shot through us,
Certain of a mark so plain;
Fire to left, to right was hell-fire;
On, the guns we charged to gain,
Balaclava, Balaclava,
Swept us down upon thy plain.
What could stay us? Who amongst us
Thought to turn, as o'er thy plain,
Reaped in that dread hour by hundreds,
Down we went 'neath that fierce rain?
What could turn us? what could stay us;
Vain their fire, their squadrons vain;
Balaclava, Balaclava,
Through them, rode we o'er thy plain.
Down before us go their horsemen;
On, the sought-for guns we gain;
Lanced or sabred fall their gunners,
But their guns we win in vain;
Few shall turn; an army fronts us;
Who shall life and safety gain,
Balaclava, Balaclava,
Charging back across thy plain?
What could stay us? backward charging.
Reeling through that iron rain.
Fiercely through their horsemen rode we,
Through their fierce fire rode again;
Few we rode; how few! and fewer,
Gashed and grim, at last drew rein,
Balaclava, Balaclava,
From that death-ride o'er thy plain.
Balaclava, Balaclava,
Far thy red and reeking plain
Thick is strewn with England's bravest,
High is heaped with England's slain;
Shot and shell have done their work well;
Never may such hearts again,
Balaclava, Balaclava,
Ride such death-ride o'er thy plain!