XLIV.

THE LOSS OF THE BIRKENHEAD

1852.

(Supposed to be told by a Soldier who survived.) RIGHT on our flank the crimson sun went down ; The deep sea roll'd around in dark repose; When, like the wild shriek from some captured town, A cry of women rose.

The stout ship Birkenhead lay hard and fast,
Caught without hope upon a hidden rock;

Her timbers thrill'd as nerves, when through them past

The spirit of that shock.

And ever like base cowards, who leave their ranks
In danger's hour, before the rush of steel,

Drifted away disorderly the planks

From underneath her keel.

So calm the air, so calm and still the flood,
That low down in its blue translucent glass
We saw the great fierce fish, that thirst for blood,
Pass slowly, then re-pass.

They tarried, the waves tarried, for their prey!
The sea turn'd one clear smile! Like things asleep

Those dark shapes in the azure silence lay,
As quiet as the deep.

Then amidst oath, and prayer, and rush, and wreck,
Faint screams, faint questions waiting no reply,
Our Colonel gave the word, and on the deck
Form'd us in line to die.

To die!-'twas hard, whilst the sleek ocean glow'd
Beneath a sky as fair as summer flowers :-

"All to the boats!" cried one :-he was, thank God, No officer of ours!

Our English hearts beat true :-we would not stir :
That base appeal we heard, but heeded not:
On land, on sea, we had our colours, sir,
To keep without a spot!

They shall not say in England, that we fought
With shameful strength, unhonour'd life to seek ;
Into mean safety, mean deserters, brought
By trampling down the weak.

So we made women with their children go,
The oars ply back again, and yet again :
Whilst, inch by inch, the drowning ship sank low,
Still under steadfast men.

-What follows, why recall?—The brave who died,
Died without flinching in the hungry surf.
They sleep as well, beneath that fatal tide,
As others under turf.

They sleep as well! and, roused from their wild grave,
Wearing their wounds like stars, shall rise again,
Joint-heirs with Christ, because they died to save
His weak ones, not in vain.

DOYLE.

XLV.

BATTLE OF THE ALMA.

THOUGH till now ungraced in story, scant although thy waters be,

Alma, roll those waters proudly, proudly roll them to the sea.

Yesterday unnamed, unhonour'd, but to wandering Tartar known,

Now thou art a voice for ever to the world's four quarters blown.

In two nations' annals graven thou art now a deathless

name,

And a star for ever shining in their firmament of fame.

Many a great and ancient river, crown'd with city, tower, and shrine,

Little streamlet, knows no magic, boasts no potency like thine;

Cannot shed the light thou sheddest around many a living head;

Cannot lend the light thou lendest to the memory of the dead.

Yea, nor all unsoothed their sorrow, who can, proudly mourning, say,

When the first strong burst of anguish shall have wept itself away

"He has past from us, the loved one, but he sleeps with them that died

By the Alma, at the winning of that terrible hill-side."

Yes, and in the days far onward, when we all are calm as those,

Who beneath thy vines and willows on their hero-beds

repose,

Thou, on England's banner blazon'd with the famous fields of old,

Shalt, where other fields are winning, wave above the brave and bold:

And our sons unborn shall nerve them for some great deed to be done

By that twentieth of September, when the Alma's heights were won.

O thou river! dear for ever to the gallant, to the free Alma, roll thy waters proudly, proudly roll them to the

sea.

TRENCH.

XLVI.

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT

BRIGADE.

I.

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.

II.

"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.