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"The Last of the Light Brigade" Notes on the text |
the poem introduction |
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(Notes by John McGivering) |
Ars longa,It should be noted that ars does not signify fine art but the art of some skilled activity – in this context, the art of medicine
vita brevis,
occasio praeceps,
experimentum periculosum,
iudicium difficile.
art is long,
life is short,
opportunity fleeting,
experiment dangerous,
judgment difficult.
The poet in a golden clime was born,he wrote for them wonderful verses We have not yet been able to trace further verses by Tennyson supporting the appeal, as Kipling suggests. Any information from readers will be appreciated.
With golden stars above;
Dower’d with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn,
The love of love...
They sent a cheque to the felon that sprang from an Irish bog;The New York Times of November 2nd 1913, on the occasion of the death of Sir George Wombwell, the last surviving officer who had been in the charge, reported contributions from a Liberal Party fund to convicted Irish rebels (the felon ... from an Irish bog), and to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (spavined cab-horse ... homeless dog) , with only the balance going to the survivors from the Light Brigade. This seems to be the rationale for Kipling's poem.
They healed the spavined cab-horse; they housed the homeless dog;
And they sent (you may call me a liar), when felon and beast were paid,
A cheque, for enough to live on, to the last of the Light Brigade."
Half a league, half a league,See The Poems of Tennyson edited by Christopher Ricks, (Longmans Green & Co Ltd,1969, p. 1034) for a note listing variants, and explaining how Tennyson wrote his first version in a few minutes after reading the report in The Times.
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.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone 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 shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring 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 sabre 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
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
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.