WITH shot and shell, like a loosened hell, Smiting them left and right, They rise or fall on the sloping wall Of beetling bush and height! They do not shrink at the awful brink Of the rifle's hurtling breath, But onward press, as their ranks grow less, To the open arms of death! Through a storm of lead, o'er maimed and dead, Onward and up they go, Till hand to hand the unflinching band Grapple the stubborn foe. O'er men that reel, 'mid glint of steel, Bellow or boom of gun, They leap and shout over each redoubt Till the final trench is won! O charge sublime! Over dust and grime Each hero hurls his name In shot or shell, like a molten hell, To the topmost heights of fame! And prone or stiff, under bush and cliff, Wounded or dead men lie, While the tropic sun on a grand deed done Looks with his piercing eye! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON AN INVITATION TO THE UNITED STATES by THOMAS HARDY TO THE DRIVING CLOUD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW BARS FIGHT, AUGUST 28, 1746 by LUCY TERRY KENTUCKY BELLE by CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON HUNTING HORNS by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 43. ALLAH-AL-KARIM by EDWIN ARNOLD SHEKLA: A VISION by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |