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Started By
Message
Charge of the Light Brigade
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:01 am
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:01 am
19th century politics ok, Chicken?
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 dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
Someone had blundered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
III
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode the six hundred.
IV
Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wondered.
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the sabre stroke
Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
V
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell.
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
VI
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
— Lord Tennyson
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 dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
Someone had blundered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
III
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode the six hundred.
IV
Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wondered.
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the sabre stroke
Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
V
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell.
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
VI
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
— Lord Tennyson
This post was edited on 12/15/22 at 11:31 am
10
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:04 am to Philzilla2k
My old man learnt the whole thing by heart when he was in elementary school.
He would use it for us as a bedtime story.
Thanks for the reminder!
He would use it for us as a bedtime story.
Thanks for the reminder!
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:05 am to Philzilla2k
quote:
Not though the soldier knew
Someone had blundered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
frick that, I'm not dying for some dumbass frickup general who screwed up.
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:06 am to Philzilla2k
quote:
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered
The Trooper!
Great poem. Great song. Great artwork.
This post was edited on 12/15/22 at 11:06 am
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:06 am to Philzilla2k
we learned this one back in school - The Light Brigade, thank you for refreshing my memory 
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:08 am to Philzilla2k
Elites like the Lord Raglan turned the Charge of the Light Brigade story into a hero story to distract from their own terrible screwups.
Sad
Sad
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:09 am to GetCocky11
quote:
frick that, I'm not dying for some dumbass frickup general who screwed up.
“To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his gods"
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:09 am to Philzilla2k
quote:
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
This always reminds of Fresh Prince and Geoffrey with an afro.
This post was edited on 12/15/22 at 11:20 am
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:14 am to soccerfüt
IYKYK
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:19 am to Philzilla2k
The British and their allies had no concept of modern expeditionary warfare (nor did anyone else). They couldn't supply or care for their troops and had to rely on volunteer nurses to alleviate the suffering. Florence Nightingale was one of them and her name became synonymous with humanitarian aid.
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:20 am to Philzilla2k
Now this is my kind of thread!
Are you going to credit it?
Are you going to credit it?
This post was edited on 12/15/22 at 11:21 am
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:25 am to Philzilla2k
You'll take my life, but I'll take yours too
You'll fire your musket, but I'll run you through
So when you're waiting for the next attack
You'd better stand, there's no turning back
The bugle sounds, the charge begins
But on this battlefield, no one wins
The smell of acrid smoke and horses' breath
As I plunge on into certain death
The horse, he sweats with fear, we break to run
The mighty roar of the Russian guns
And as we race towards the human wall
The screams of pain as my comrades fall
We hurdle bodies that lay on the ground
And the Russians fire another round
We get so near, yet so far away
We won't live to fight another day
We get so close, near enough to fight
When a Russian gets me in his sights
He pulls the trigger and I feel the blow
A burst of rounds take my horse below
And as I lay there gazing at the sky
My body's numb and my throat is dry
And as I lay forgotten and alone
Without a tear, I draw my parting groan
You'll fire your musket, but I'll run you through
So when you're waiting for the next attack
You'd better stand, there's no turning back
The bugle sounds, the charge begins
But on this battlefield, no one wins
The smell of acrid smoke and horses' breath
As I plunge on into certain death
The horse, he sweats with fear, we break to run
The mighty roar of the Russian guns
And as we race towards the human wall
The screams of pain as my comrades fall
We hurdle bodies that lay on the ground
And the Russians fire another round
We get so near, yet so far away
We won't live to fight another day
We get so close, near enough to fight
When a Russian gets me in his sights
He pulls the trigger and I feel the blow
A burst of rounds take my horse below
And as I lay there gazing at the sky
My body's numb and my throat is dry
And as I lay forgotten and alone
Without a tear, I draw my parting groan
This post was edited on 12/15/22 at 11:27 am
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:30 am to Philzilla2k
In Flanders Fields
BY JOHN MCCRAE
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
BY JOHN MCCRAE
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:30 am to TomRollTideRitter
Reading 11th Month, 11th Day, 11th Hour Armistice Day, 1918 and Its Violent Climax by Joseph E. Persico.
It is truly amazing the craziness of these generals ordering soldiers to charge the German machine guns with 30 minutes left before the war ended and even crazier that the soldiers went over the top.
Same with the Charge of the Light Brigade.
It is truly amazing the craziness of these generals ordering soldiers to charge the German machine guns with 30 minutes left before the war ended and even crazier that the soldiers went over the top.
Same with the Charge of the Light Brigade.
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:31 am to fr33manator
quote:
Are you going to credit it?
Good point.
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:35 am to Jim Rockford
quote:
Florence Nightingale was one of them and her name became synonymous with humanitarian aid.
Well, she was no Molly Pitcher.
But I guess she was alright.
Posted on 12/15/22 at 4:57 pm to Bwmdx
quote:
In Flanders Fields BY JOHN MCCRAE
Reminds me a bit of Green Fields of France by Eric Bogle.
I was looking at pictures of battlefields from ww1 100 years apart the other night and wrote this
It’s about how that lust for war and destruction and violence can spread through a society and its eventual end. But then, even with as much damage and death it brings, after enough time has passed those wounds heal.
The Story of the Hateseed
A tiny seed of hate is planted, rears its head and
Spreads its roots,
sends out probing twisting tendrils, bearing hateful little fruits,
And they cling to every surface, they dig their hooks in deep,
The strangle vines grip tighter, potent poison starts to seep,
Sucking life out of the living, a persistent parasite,
Its demands are unforgiving, as it spreads its baleful blight,
Tasting sweet and seeming harmless, oh how clever it consumes,
Brooding cancerous corruption, choking hope, and breeding gloom,
Twisting, turning all creation, into instruments of wrath,
Leaving roads of rot and ruin, in its hurtful, hateful path,
Damning, desiccating, drying, brittle branches cry for rain,
But the hateseed strangles beauty, until only hate remains,
Piling up in broken brambles, weeping sap of acrid ire,
Waiting for that wicked spark, bolt of lightning, then, the fire,
First the smoke, then fiery embers, wicked wind ignites the blaze,
Then it goes, far as it grows, choking smoke and poison haze,
Wages war upon the landscape, foul and fearsome, unforgiving,
Burning every branch and blossom, leaving nothing for the living,
Singeing scorching spawning spreading,
Blazing bursts as cinders fall,
Reaching out with fiery fingers,
oh its aim?
To burn it all.
If its fuel is left to fester, there‘s one thing in life I’ve learned,
Hate, by nature, piles up,
Once there’s enough,
Hate waits
Hate burns
Hate that grew in every cranny,
Every nook, and every cleft,
Hate it burns with such a fury,
That it seems there’s nothing left,
Just the dead and burnt and broken,
Smold’ring ash in smoking piles,
Desolation, immolation, madness screaming on for miles
Nothing left but soot and ash,
No songs, no birds, no life, no smiles,
Just the silent sound of slaughter,
As hate watches for a while,
It’s won, no doubt,
But the thing of hate, it burns,
But then, by fate, the hate, burns out,
All its energy expended, all that fuel from fetid fruit,
all its hateful vines upended, Branch and bramble, seed and root,
All consumed by conflagration,
Blackened burned and blown away,
Nothing left but blasted ground,
Darkness owns all…
‘Til break of day,
New sun rises on the morning,
Looking on, with tears it cries,
Rain falls, smothering the embers,
Seeps the soil weeps and sighs,
Takes a moment for their grieving,
Then get busy, back for birth,
Hate can’t outlast love, believing,
Father Time, and Mother Earth,
And for all its boastful burning,
But a breeze blows it away,
Love and growing, swift returning,
Love is life, life finds a way,
All Hate’s spiteful choking poison,
Love is stronger, blossoms banish,
Turning all its rot to beauty,
In its glory, hate must vanish,
And that blackened, blasted hellscape,
Turns with time, and toil, to green,
Jagged edges growing softer,
Smoothed and softened now it seems,
And where once was pain and anguish,
Awful pyres and raging embers,
Now only flowers bloom there,
And only ghosts remember,
When the present tells the future,
Of the story of the past,
Well, the tale is rather simple,
Short and sweet,
Hate burns,
Love lasts.
Posted on 12/15/22 at 11:31 pm to fr33manator
Great poem really really really stupid military action. Leaders should have been executed
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