The morn was cold and dreary,

The wind blew o'er the plain;

Our men stood to their horses,

Holding bit and rein.

Twas now the time for turning in,

The hour had long expired,

We turned our horses heads, to go,

But Hark; A gun has fired.

To Arms, To Arms", the trumpet sounds,

The picquets circle round,

The enemy's advancing,

Into your saddles bound,

The Turks are standing to their arms,

For a moment all is still,

We hear a shout, a Russian yell;

They are coming up the hill.

The "Dogs of War" are now let loose,

The fire has opened out,

Dark masses now ascend the hill

And capture the Redoubt.

The Turks are far outnumbered

Retreating with dismay;

The Russians still advancing,

Our cavalry stands at bay.

Sir Colin Campbell's Highlanders

Were stationed on the right;

And now the Cossack horsemen

Advance to show them fight.

The hardy Scotsmen stand in line,

The Cossacks still draw nigh.

"Now Fire", Brave Scots, a volley, and

"Hurragh", the Cossacks fly.

Altho' Sir Colin's gallant band

Made many a head lay low,

Yet still a mass of cavalry came,

Resolved to meet the foe.

And quick they came across the plain,

So eager every one,

Our Heavies now advance; that crash;

Hurragh, the fight's begun.

And now the deafening noise prevails

Like thunder all around,

While many a gallant hero

Lay bleeding on the ground.

The clang of arms, the boom of guns,

Midst dying groans and yells;

The foe is now retreating,

Pursued by shot and shells, --

And now the battle opens out

To the left behind the hill;

The enemy are again in force,

Close by Blackwater's rill.

Our Batteries cannot reach them;

They have got so far away.

If only we could get their guns

We might soon win the day.

Swift comes a breathless aide-de-camp

With an order in his hand,

He rides up to Lord Lucan

And gives him the Command. --

Quick! Quick! the gallant Light Brigade

Must charge the Russian force.

0 God; what carnage now ensues,

And mows down man and horse.

For those dear ones they have left behind,

Each offers up a prayer;

Though Death is raging all around,

It is not one of fear. --

The brave and gallant Cardigan,

Leads on his little band,

They meet the foe in thousands

And fight them hand to hand.

Oh God: what groans and dying yells,

"Still Onward" is the cry,

Their guns will still be ours,

Look! see the foe, they fly. --

Oh, if only we had support,

The day might soon be ours,

No British aid is near at hand,

And Oh! the foe returns. --

And now the remnant of that band

Return between the hills,

While many a wounded hero

His comrade's saddle fills. --

But of the number that is left,

Far behind in our rear;

With no kind friend to say farewell,

Or crop [drop?] a silent tear.