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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