O thirty million English that babble of England's might,īehold there are twenty heroes who lack their food to-night Till the fatted souls of the English were scourged with the thing called Shame. The poor little army departed, limping and lean and forlorn.Īnd the heart of the Master-singer grew hot with "the scorn of scorn."Īnd he wrote for them wonderful verses that swept the land like flame, We think that someone has blundered, an' couldn't you tell 'em how? "No, thank you, we don't want food, sir but couldn't you take an' writeĪ sort of 'to be continued' and 'see next page' o' the fight? Here's all that isn't dead.Īn' it's all come true what you wrote, sir, regardin' the mouth of hell įor we're all of us nigh to the workhouse, an', we thought we'd call an' tell. The old Troop-Sergeant was spokesman, and "Beggin' your pardon," he said, They shambled into his presence, the last of the Light Brigade. With stooping of weary shoulders, in garments tattered and frayed, They drilled on an empty stomach, the loose-knit files fell slack They strove to stand to attention, to straighten the toil-bowed back To look for the Master-singer who had crowned them all in his song Īnd, waiting his servant's order, by the garden gate they stayed,Ī desolate little cluster, the last of the Light Brigade. They went without bands or colours, a regiment ten-file strong, The things on Balaclava the kiddies at school recites." Keen were the Russian sabres, but want was keener than they Īnd an old Troop-Sergeant muttered, "Let us go to the man who writes They laid their heads together that were scarred and lined and grey They asked for a little money to keep the wolf from the door Īnd the thirty million English sent twenty pounds and four! That though they were dying of famine, they lived in deathless song.
They felt that life was fleeting they knew not that art was long, They were only shiftless soldiers, the last of the Light Brigade. They had neither food nor money, they had neither service nor trade There were twenty broken troopers who lacked a bed for the night. There were thirty million English who talked of England's might,
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