Half a vial, half a vial, Half a vial downward, All in the bottle of Death Flew the six hundred. 'Forward, the Flight Brigade! Charge for the cotton!' he said: Into the bottle of Death Flew the six hundred.
'Forward, the Flight Brigade!' Was there a fly dismay'd? Not tho' the larvae knew Some one had blunder'd: Their's not to make reply, Their's not to reason why, Their's but to breed and die: Into the bottle of Death Flew the six hundred.
Ether to right of them, Ether to left of them, Ether in front of them Volatilized and slumber'd; Pursued with swat and smell, Boldly they flew and well, Into the bottle of Death, Into the mouth of Hell Flew the six hundred.
Flash'd all their wings bare, Flash'd as they turn'd in air Surprising the PI there, Charging the Academe, while All the world wonder'd: Plunged in the ether-smoke Right thro' the cotton they broke; Student and Postdoc Reel'd from the ethers' choke Shatter'd and sunder'd. Then they flew away, but not Not the six hundred.
Ether to right of them, Ether to left of them, Ether behind them Volatilized and slumber'd; Pursued with swat and smell, white male and female fell, They that had flown so well Came thro' the jaws of Death, Away from the bottle 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 wonder'd. Honour the charge they made! Honour the Flight Brigade, Noble six hundred!
(with apologies to Tennyson) Graham Thomas Matthew PhillipsThe background for this poem is part of a woodcut print from the Illustrated London News that illustrates The Battle of Balaclava curiously many of the cavalry appear to have bright red eyes. Click here to see the full size background image
