Poems Every Child Should Know Part 16

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"

Was there a man dismay'd?

Not tho' the soldier knew Some one had blunder'd: 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.

Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and sh.e.l.l Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of h.e.l.l Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabers bare, Flash'd as they turn'd in air Sab'ring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wonder'd: Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reel'd from the saber-stroke Shatter'd and sunder'd.

Then they rode back, but not Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered: Stormed at with shot and sh.e.l.l, While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well Came through the jaws of death Back from the mouth of h.e.l.l, All that was left of them-- Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?

Oh, the wild charge they made!

All the world wondered.

Honour the charge they made!

Honour the Light Brigade-- n.o.ble six hundred!

ALFRED TENNYSON.

THE TOURNAMENT.

There are several of Sidney Lanier's (1842-81) poems that children love to learn. "Tampa Robins," "The Tournament" (Joust 1.), "Barnacles,"

"The Song of the Chattahoochee," and "The First Steamboat Up the Alabama" are among them. At our "poetry contests" the children have plainly demonstrated that this great poet has reached his hand down to the youngest. The time will doubtless come when it will be a part of education to be acquainted with Lanier, as it is now to be acquainted with Longfellow or Tennyson.

I.

Bright shone the lists, blue bent the skies, And the knights still hurried amain To the tournament under the ladies' eyes, Where the jousters were Heart and Brain.

II.

Flourished the trumpets, entered Heart, A youth in crimson and gold; Flourished again; Brain stood apart, Steel-armoured, dark and cold.

III.

Heart's palfrey caracoled gaily round, Heart tra-li-ra'd merrily; But Brain sat still, with never a sound, So cynical-calm was he.

IV.

Heart's helmet-crest bore favours three From his lady's white hand caught; While Brain wore a plumeless casque; not he Or favour gave or sought.

V.

The trumpet blew; Heart shot a glance To catch his lady's eye.

But Brain gazed straight ahead, his lance To aim more faithfully.

VI.

They charged, they struck; both fell, both bled; Brain rose again, ungloved; Heart, dying, smiled and faintly said, "My love to my beloved."

SIDNEY LANIER.

THE WIND AND THE MOON.

Little Laddie, do you remember learning "The Wind and the Moon"? You were eight or nine years old, and you shut your eyes and puffed out your cheeks when you came to the line "He blew and He blew." The saucy wind made a great racket and the calm moon never noticed it. That gave you a great deal of pleasure, didn't it? We did not care much for the noisy, conceited wind. (1824-.)

Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out, You stare In the air Like a ghost in a chair, Always looking what I am about-- I hate to be watched; I'll blow you out."

The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon.

So, deep On a heap Of clouds to sleep, Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon, Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon."

He turned in his bed; she was there again!

On high In the sky, With her one ghost eye, The Moon shone white and alive and plain.

Said the Wind, "I will blow you out again."

The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew dim.

"With my sledge, And my wedge, I have knocked off her edge!

If only I blow right fierce and grim, The creature will soon be dimmer than dim."

He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread.

"One puff More's enough To blow her to snuff!

One good puff more where the last was bred, And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread."

He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone In the air Nowhere Was a moonbeam bare; Far off and harmless the shy stars shone-- Sure and certain the Moon was gone!

The Wind he took to his revels once more; On down, In town, Like a merry-mad clown, He leaped and hallooed with whistle and roar-- "What's that?" The glimmering thread once more!

He flew in a rage--he danced and blew; But in vain Was the pain Of his bursting brain; For still the broader the Moon-sc.r.a.p grew, The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew.

Slowly she grew--till she filled the night, And shone On her throne In the sky alone, A matchless, wonderful silvery light, Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night.

Said the Wind: "What a marvel of power am I With my breath, Good faith!

I blew her to death-- First blew her away right out of the sky-- Then blew her in; what strength have I!"

But the Moon she knew nothing about the affair; For high In the sky, With her one white eye, Motionless, miles above the air, She had never heard the great Wind blare.

GEORGE MACDONALD.

JESUS THE CARPENTER.