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 240 TENNYSON

And he turned half round, and he bad his trumpeter

sound To the charge, and he rode on ahead, as he waved

his blade To the gallant three hundred whose glory will never

die

'Follow,' and up the hill, up the hill, up the hill, Followed the Heavy Brigade.

The trumpet, the gallop, the charge, and the might

of the fight ! Thousands of horsemen had gathered there on the

height, With a wing pushed out to the left and a wing to

the right, And who shall escape if they close? but he dashed

up alone

Through the great grey slope of men, Swayed his sabre, and held his own Like an Englishman there and then; All in a moment followed with force Three that were next in their fiery course, Wedged themselves in between horse and horse, Fought for their lives in the narrow gap they had

made

Four amid thousands ! and up the hill, up the hill, Gallopt the gallant three hundred, the Heavy

Brigade.

Fell like a cannon-shot, Burst like a thunderbolt, Crashed like a hurricane,

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