Saturday, October 27, 2007

[1782 - Nicolo Paganini, violin virtuoso, composer, born in Genoa, Italy]

[1858 - Theodore Roosevelt, 26th U.S. President, born in New York City]

[1904 - First opening of the New York City Subway System]

[1914 - Dylan Thomas, poet, playwright, novelist, born in Swansea, Wales]

Ride of the First Brigade
(Apologies to Alfred, Lord Tennyson)

Half a click, half a click,
Half a click onward,
All on the highway of Death
Rode the three thousand.
"Forward, the First Brigade!
Find Saddam Hussein!" he said:
Down the highway of Death
Rode the three thousand.

"Forward, the First Brigade!"
Was there a man dismayed?
No, though some soldiers knew
The President had blundered:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Down the highway of Death
Rode the three thousand.

RPGs to the right of them,
IEDs to the left of them,
Exploded and thundered,
All of us wondered.
Ambushed by shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell,
Rode the three thousand.

Flashing high-tech weapons bare,
Bodies flying through the air,
Charging after WMD, while
All the world wondered:
Plunging into sand and smoke,
Through to Baghdad they broke.
"Mission Accomplished," he said.
Only a few hundred troops were dead.
Que the flowers; march the bands.
But not for the three thousands.

Iraq was occupied, not pacified.
Insurgents hit, fled, and died.
Suicide bombers sacrifice for
Tickets straight to paradise
"Stay the course" cast its spell,
While each brave hero fell,
They that had fought so well,
Now lived through a greater Hell,
Not one of them was left to tell,
Left of the three thousand.

When can their Glory fade?
Honor the ride they made!
Honor the First Brigade,
Noble Three Thousand!

---

Stephen Crane

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