[After the defeat at Alma: "Menschikoff... / Concerts how may best retrieve / The battle lately lost."]

At length, in Balaklava's Plain,

Liprandi aim'd a blow,

Which, if successful, once again,

Might cheer our drooping foe;

But there, by Spartan valour met,

His dense Battalions found,

How vain their cherish'd hope to get

An inch of 'vantage ground.

His fi'ry Cossacks first assault

Some Moslems in redoubt,

Defeat, pursue, to purge their fault,

They let their life blood out;

Through fez and skull, to the breastbone,

The sabre cleaves its way,

And when that butchery was done,

They sought some nobler prey.

Ere long, a faint red line was seen

To intersect the Plain,

The distance, half a mile between,

Their courage yearn'd again;

First, reinforc'd, and mustering

Some fifteen hundred strong,

They paus'd, then thickly clustering,

At full speed dash'd along.

Meanwhile, the gallant Ninety-third,

In double file array'd,

(Brave Campbell held it quite absurd

T' infuse a deeper shade),

Cooly await the proud advance,

As now their ranks it nears,

And look, with scorn, on sword and lance

Of such Cavaliers.

As when some mighty hurricane

Comes rushing o'er the land,

So on they sweep, each moment gain,

Speed towards that gallant band;

A blaze of musketry rings out,

The horsemen, stagg'ring, reel

Discomfited, they turn about,

And *Campbell's glory seal.

* Sir Colin Campbell.

To cover such ignoble flight,

Fresh Cavalry appear,

Their uniforms, with silver bright,

Advancing from their rear;

Fast to the front they hurry on,

Their comrades flight to shield,

And where such daring valour shone,

Hope to retrieve the field.

'Twas then, bold Scarlet, Brigadier,

Led forth his stalwart band,

Who, rushing on, in full career,

Dealt death from hand to hand;

Broken, redform'd, again forc'd through,

The Russian Horsemen fly,

Whilst honour lights, with lustre new,

Our Heavy Cavalry.

Meanwhile, the Northern Infantry

Had seized the four redoubts,

From which the Turks were forc'd to fly

Before the Cossack scouts;

The Muscove Cavalry withdrew

Behind some thirty guns,

With, yet, fresh thousands, to renew

The trials of Britain's Sons.

And, here, a wond'rous tale demands,

To bathe in glory's hue,

'Mid feats of arms, as proud it stands,

Scarce credible, yet true;

Our Lighter Cavalry prepare

Six hundred sabres strong,

That host, so vastly dense, to dare,

And, reckless, rush among.

Arriv'd the mandate of his Chief,

Earl Lucan, doubting, read;

Then, to Lord Cardigan, a brief,

More certain order sped;

He, nothing daunted, gave the word

To charge! and, like a flash

Of light'ning, wav'd the naked sword,

And on, at once, they dash!

Proudly they press their desp'rate way

Tow'rd their gigantic foe,

Nor deign from that dread path to stray,

Tho' well the risk they know;

In double line those heroes move,

Through storms of shells and balls,

Which flank them from the heights above,

Yet not a man appals.

On, on they go, fast gath'ring speed,

As tow'rd the foe they fly,

Disdain the fearful odds to heed,

Resolv'd to do, or die;

'Til, from the Legions of the North,

A flood of flame and smoke

Some thirty iron mouths belch forth!

Their leading line is broke.

But, prompt, the second to replace

What gaps the cannon made,

And, o'er the intervening space,

Dash on the Light Brigade;

At length they reach the dense array,

First, cut the Gunners down,

Then, through the masses, cleave their way

To honour and renown.

This feat achiev'd, they now retrace

Their steps towards the rear,

Where further honour waits to grace

Their chivalrous career;

Down on their flanks fresh horsemen rush!

A sea of helm and spear,

Big with the futile hope to crush,

And pile the fun'ral bier.

At once, perceiving their design,

The noble Shewell led

The 8th Dragoons right through their line,

And wild confusion spread;

'Til, once again, the remnant stand,

Within their own array,

The pride of Merrie England,

A deathless name won they.

Meanwhile, the gay Chasseurs of France,

A batt'ry on the right,

Which flank'd our braves, in their advance,

Dash'd at, with all their might;

Enthusiastically dar'd,

Apart from all support,

A feat two hundred comrades shar'd,

Return'd full fifty short.

'Twas thus, that Balaklava's field

Was chiefly fought and won;

Liprandi was the first to yield,

Where he had first begun;

One heavy task, that yet remain'd —

Accomplish'd, we retire,

To chat, anew, of glory gain'd,

Around the pale watch fire.