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.
Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volley'd and thunder'd;
When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made! All the world wonder'd. Honor the charge they made! Honor the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred.