Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble Six Hundred!
It is impossible to overlook the constant recurrence of the phrases “valley of Death;” “jaws of Death;” “mouth of Hell,” and their significance. The keynote of the poem is found in the line,
Some one had blunder’d:
Here is the central thought. The men made a gallant charge, went boldly and willingly to their doom; but it was all a mistake, a fearful, horrible mistake. We care not for the fact that cannons were to the right, to the left, and to the front of them. The mere position is nothing. But who can repress the shudder of despair as he contemplates that heroic band surrounded by fires from death-dealing cannon?
On pages [200 and 201] will be found three poems from Tennyson, each of which presents a different aspect. The first is marked by an exquisite simplicity. It contains but one simple idea, which is set forth in the simplest language. Consequently, the reading should be equally unassuming. The least appearance of affectation or effort will dissipate the atmosphere.
The second is a lullaby. The rocking cradle is felt in every line, while in the last line of each stanza we have the rhythmic picture of the gradual cessation of the rocking, and it seems impossible to omit the long pause before the last word in each of these lines, a pause exactly equal to the time of one of the preceding feet.
The third poem is of an entirely different nature. Here we have the strength of spirit that animated King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table. When we bear in mind that this song is sung after King Arthur’s claim to the throne, which has long been in doubt, has been firmly established, and he has taken Guinevere to wife, we can better understand its passionate joy.
One of the most interesting features in connection with the study of literature is rhythm. The meaning of rhythm is not always clearly apprehended, many regarding it simply as poets’ playfulness, interesting in the nursery rhyme, tickling the childish ear, but beyond that a useless and even senseless filigree. Nothing could be farther from truth. Rhythm is not a conventional appendage of poetry, but its very heart, life, spirit. It springs spontaneously from the poet’s heart, and is the manifestation of his deepest feeling. Who can fail to catch the bounding spirit of life and joy in the following: