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Dirge of the Dead Sisters Pg 6
The Hyaenas Pg 7
War Pg 8-9
The Charge of Light Brigade Pg 10-11
The Battle of Blenheim Pg 12-13
A Wife in London (December, 1899) - Thomas Hardy
I--The Tragedy
She sits in the tawny vapour
That the City lanes have uprolled,
Behind whose webby fold on fold
Like a waning taper
The street-lamp glimmers cold.…read more

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He--has fallen--in the far South Land . . .
II--The Irony
'Tis the morrow; the fog hangs thicker,
The postman nears and goes:
A letter is brought whose lines disclose
By the firelight flicker
His hand, whom the worm now knows:
Fresh--firm--penned in highest feather -
Page-full of his hoped return,
And of home-planned jaunts by brake and burn
In the summer weather,
And of new love that they would learn.…read more

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Smell you the buckwheat where the bees were lately
Above all, lo, the sky so calm, so transparent after the rain,
and with wondrous clouds,
Below too, all calm, all vital and beautiful, and the farm
prospers well.
Down in the fields all prospers well,
But now from the fields come father, come at the daughter's
And come to the entry mother, to the front door come right
away.…read more

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In the midnight waking, weeping, longing with one deep
O that she might withdraw unnoticed, silent from life escape
and withdraw,
To follow, to seek, to be with her dear dead son.…read more

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Bold behind the battle, in the open camp all-hallowed,
Patient, wise, and mirthful in the ringed and reeking town,
These endured unresting till they rested from their labours -
Little wasted bodies, ah, so light to lower down!)
Written by Rudyard Kipling (News reporter, usually in favour of British Empire but views
changed during this War)
Based on the Boer War
Focuses on the Nurses of the Boer War and the role they had in supporting the soldiers
Dirge = Sad, mournful song
Darkness approaches…read more

Page 7

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For a goat may butt, and a worm may sting,
And a child will sometimes stand;
But a poor dead soldier of the King
Can never lift a hand.…read more

Page 8

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A tent, with a table athwart,
A table that's laid out for one;
A waterproof cover ­ and nought
But the limp, mangled work of a gun.
A bottle that's stuck by the pole,
A guttering dip in the neck;
The flickering light of a soul
On the wondering eyes of The Wreck,
And it's War! `Orderly, hold his hand.
I'm not going to hurt you, so don't be afraid.…read more

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The Charge of the Light Brigade- Alfred Lord Tennyson
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.…read more

Page 10

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Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and 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 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.…read more


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