The story behind this is that one morning in 1855 Tennyson read an account of the charge of the Light Brigade, a tragic incident in the Crimean War in 1854 when the phrase 'some one had blundered' formed itself in his mind as he set out for his walk over High Down and as the result he wrote this poem
Half a league, half a league,
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 who dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Their's not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do or die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to the right of them,
Cannon to the 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 the air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wondere'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossak 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 the right of them,
Cannon to the left of them,
Cannon in front of 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 the six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd,
Honour the charge they made
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, night has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the rose is blown.
For a breeze of morning moves.
And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
On a bed of daffodil sky,
To faintt in the light of the sun she loves,
To faint in his light and to die.
All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin and bassoon;
All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd
To the dancers dancing in tune;
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon
I said to the lily, "There is but one
With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?
She is weary of dance and play."
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day;
Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.