The Charge of the Griz Brigade

First verse by LMRB, completed by Martin White (1854), with apologies to Lord Tennyson.

Seven leagues, seven leagues,
     Seven leagues onward,
All in the valley of bogs
     Ran the two thousand.
"Forward, the Griz brigade!
Charge for the line!" he said.
Into the valley of bogs
     Ran the two thousand.

"Forward, the Griz Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the runner knew
     Someone had blundered:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do & die,
Into the valley of bogs
     Ran the two thousand.

Hills to right of them,
Hills to left of them,
Hills in front of them
     Rose up and tower'd;
Storm'd at by mud and shell,
Boldly they ran and well,
Onto the beach of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
     Ran the two thousand.

Flash'd all their muscles bare,
Flash'd as they gasp'd for air,
Hurting their bodies there,
Charging the cliff tops, while
     All the crowed 'pplauded
Plunged into water deep
Right through their shoes it seep'd;
Grizzly and Cub alike
Reel'd from the route's fierce steep,
     Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they crawled back, but not
     Not the two thousand.

Hills to right of them,
Hills to left of them,
Hills to front of them
     Rose up and tower'd;
Storm'd at by mud and shell,
While the unfit ones fell,
They that had run so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
     Left of two thousand.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
     All the crowd wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Griz Brigade,
     Noble two thousand!

© Garry Perratt & Martin White, 2011