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By: Kris Leverette

kris leverette

on 4 June 2010

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Transcript of War!!!

War The Charge Of The Light Brigade
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Memorializing Events in the Battle of Balaclava, October 25, 1854
Written 1854

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 dismay'd ?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do & die,
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 & 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 air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack & Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke,
Shatter'd & sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse & 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 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! Was a long and dark December
From the rooftops I remember
There was snow
White snow

Clearly I remember
From the windows they were watching
While we froze down below

When the future's architectured
By a carnival of idiots on show
You'd better lie low

If you love me
Won't you let me know?

Was a long and dark December
When the banks became cathedrals
And the fog
Became God

Priests clutched onto bibles
And went out to fit their rifles
And the cross was held aloft

Bury me in honor
When I'm dead and hit the ground
A love back home unfolds

If you love me
Won't you let me know?

I don't want to be a soldier
With the captain of some sinking ship
With snow, far below

So if you love me
Why'd you let me go?

I took my love down to violet hill
There we sat in snow
All that time she was silent still

So if you love me
Won't you let me know?

If you love me,
Won't you let me know? 1806.2
The Triple Loss
[Thomas Stott]
The Gentleman's Magazine, LXXVI (February 1806), p. 160
In the short space of half a circling year,
Britain has felt three losses most severe,
NELSON, her hero on the boundless main,
The constant scourge and dread of France and Spain;
CORNWALLIS,[1] India's fav'rite—Ireland's friend,
Wise to conciliate, valiant to defend;
And PITT,[2] the dauntless pilot of the State,
By birth, in talents, eminently great:
These have, alas! now pass'd that awful bourn
Whence Fate's decree for ever bars return!
But let not Britain, though thus doom'd to bear
Such ponderous misfortunes, yet despair.
Warriors and statesmen still for her shall rise,
Like those whose noble souls have sought the skies;
With generous strife each loyal breast shall glow
To recompense her losses—soothe her woe.
Around the Constitution all shall cling,
Warm in attachment to their virtuous King;
Firm in their resolution to oppose,
With heart and hands united, Britain's foes.
Dromore, Feb. 6. Here Dead We Lie

Here dead we lie
Because we did not choose
To live and shame the land
From which we sprung.

Life, to be sure,
Is nothing much to lose,
But young men think it is,
And we were young.

Alfred Edward Housman- 1917 The Wounded Soldier
“Mr. Merry”
Robert Merry

The sun was just retir'd, the dews of eve
Their glow-worm lustre scatter'd o'er the vale;
The lonely nightingale began to grieve,
Telling, with many a pause, her tend'rest tale.

No clamours rude disturb'd the pensive hour,
And the young moon, yet fearful of the night,
Rear'd her pale crescent o'er the burnish'd tow'r,
That caught the parting orb's still ling'ring light.

Twas then, where peasant footsteps mark'd the way,
A wounded soldier feebly mov'd along;
While pity in his youthful form might view
A helpless prematurity of age.

Then as with strange contortions lab'ring slow,
He gain'd the summit of his native hill,
And saw the well-known prospect spread below,
The farm, the cot, the hamlet, and the mill;

In spite of fortitude, one struggling sigh
Shook the firm texture of his tortur'd heart;
And from his hollow and dejected eye
One trembling tear hung ready to depart.

"How chang'd (he cried) is the fair scene to me,
Since last across this narrow path I went!
The soaring lark felt not superior glee,
Nor any human breast more true content.

"When the fresh hay was o'er the meadow thrown,
Amidst the busy throng I still appear'd;
My prowess too at harvest-time was shown,
While LUCY's carol ev'ry labour cheer'd.

"The burning rays I scarcely seem'd to feel,
If the dear maiden near me chanc'd to rove;
Or if she deign'd to share my frugal meal,
It was a rich repast — a feast of love.

"And when at ev'ning, with a rustic's pride,
I dar'd the sturdiest wrestlers on the green,
What joy was mine! to hear her at my side
Extol my vigour and my manly mien.

"Ah! now no more the sprightly lass shall run
To bid me welcome from the sultry plain;
But her averted eye my sight will shun,
And all our cherish'd fondest hopes be vain.

"Alas! my parents, must ye too endure
That I should gloom for e'er your homely mirth,
Exist upon the pittance ye procure,
And make ye curse the hour that gave me birth?

"Oh, hapless day! when at a neighb'ring wake,
The gaudy sergeant caught my wond'ring eye,
And as his tongue of war and honour spake,
I felt a wish to conquer or to die.

"Then, while he bound the ribands on my brow,
He talk'd of captains kind and generals good,
Said, a whole nation would my fame avow,
And bounty call'd the purchase of my blood.

"Yet I refus'd that bounty — I disdain'd
To sell my service in a righteous cause,
And such to my dull sense it was explain'd,
The cause of monarchs, justice, and the laws.

"The rattling drums beat loud, the fifes began,
My King and country seem'd to ask my aid;
Through ev'ry vein the thrilling ardour ran —
I left my humble cot, my village maid.

"Oh, hapless day! torn from my LUCY's charms,
I thence was hurried to a scene of strife,
To painful marches, and the din of arms —
The wreck of reason and the waste of life.

"In loathsome vessels now with crowds confin'd,
Now led with hosts to slaughter in the field;
Now backward driv'n, like leaves before the wind,
Too weak to stand, and yet asham'd to yield.

"Till oft-repeated victories inspir'd,
With tenfold fury the indignant foe,
Who ruthless still advanc'd as we retir'd,
And laid our boasted, proudest honours low.

"Through frozen deserts then compell'd to fly,
Our bravest legions moulder'd fast away,
Thousands of wounds and sickness left to die,
While hov'ring ravens mark'd them for their prey.

"Ah! sure remorse their savage hearts must rend,
Whose selfish, desp'rate frenzy could decree,
That in one mass of murder men should blend,
Who sent the slave to fight against the free.

"Unequal conquest! — at fair Freedom's call,
The lowest hind glows with celestial fire;
She rules, directs, pervades, and conquers all,
And armies at her sacred glance expire.

"Then be this warfare of the world accurs'd!
The son now weeps not on the father's bier,
But gray-hair'd age (for nature is revers'd)
Drops o'er his children's grave an icy tear."

Thus having spoke — by varying passions tost,
He reach'd the threshold of his parents' shed,
Who knew not of his fate, but mourn'd him lost,
Amidst the number of the unnam'd dead.

Soon as they heard his well-remember'd voice,
A ray of rapture chas'd habitual care:
"Our HENRY lives — we may again rejoice!"
And LUCY sweetly blush'd, for she was there.

But when he enter'd in such horrid guise,
His mother shriek'd, and dropp'd upon the floor:
His father look'd to heav'n with streaming eyes,
And LUCY sunk, alas! to rise no more.

O, may this tale, which agony must close,
Give due contrition to the self-call'd great,
And show the poor how hard the lot of those
Who shed their blood for ministers of state!

Absolutely Nothing
By: Kristopher Leverette

War, huh, yeah
What is it good for?
War is a double bladed sword
One side makes new countries
One side destroys old one's
One side helps cure disease
One side spreads it
War seems to be good if your on the winning side
But if your on the losing one
You might be asking yourself,
What is it good for?
And that answer may be,
Absolutely nothing One Step
By: Kristopher Leverette

My work as a soldier is never done
I fight to win and protect what's won
I may help win a battle or even a war
Just to realize that there will always be more
I start to think is all this worth it?
Did the person I stabbed, shot, killed, really deserve it?
To take a life I could not bear
That is why I have this noose and stand on this chair
I'm tired of taking lives and living with the strain
I keep hearing those voices calling my name
I'm all alone so that nobody will see
Just one step to end this pain and sorrow on 1,2,3..... World War 11 World War 1 Korean War Revolutionary War War of 1812 The Crusades Jurchen-Sung War First Barons' War War of the League of Cambrai Muscovtie-Lithuanian Wars Inca Civil War Lamian War Fulani War Ashanti-Fante War Hundred Years' War Hussite Wars Cimbrian War Gothic War Punjab War Jinshin War Saxon Wars Marcomannic Wars Dacke Wars Creek War Apache Wars Uruguayan War Boshin War Red River War Lapland War Why?
By: Kristopher Leverette

I really don't know that much about war and pain
I don't know about the stress or feel it's strain
I'm not a soldier, just a regular guy
So when it comes to war, I just ask myself why?
Why would a young man fight with his heart?
For something that he didn't even start
Why would a young dad risk his life?
To possibly lose everything and have a widowed wife
Why would a son run into a room full of fire?
For some politician, or really good liar
Why would people do all this for?
Because if nobody didn't, there wouldn't be war
Creative Destroyer
By: Kristopher Leverette

War is the creator of many things
But it also destroys many things too
It creates leaders and nations to reign
But if your not careful war may kill you

War comes up a lot in our history
We have had war since the start of mankind
So why does it seem like a mystery
Some people don't like it some think it's fine

I personally don't really like war
The bad sides seem to outnumber the good
One little battle always leads to more
If I could stop it all I really would

War can cause much starvation, loss, and strife
But with what war destroys it brings new life

Ottoman-TImurid War Kexholms War Swabian War By: Kristopher Leverette
1B http://allpoetry.com/poem/6425987
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