The Charge of the Four Hundred

J.C.D., 1905

Written in the cadence of The Charge of the Light Brigade

Half a block, half a block,
    Half a block onward,
All in their 'motobiles
    Rode the Four Hundred.
“Forward!” the owners shout,
“Racing-car!” “Runabout!”
Into Fifth Avenue
    Rode the Four Hundred.

“Forward!” the owners said,
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not though the chauffeurs knew
    Some one had blundered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to kill or die,
Into Fifth Avenue
    Rode the Four Hundred.

Tunnels to the right of them,
Tunnels to the left of them,
Subways beneath them,
    Volley'd and thunder'd;
Stormed at with shout and yell,
Boldly they rode and well.
Into Fifth Avenue,
While rang the chauffeur's bell,
    Rode the Four Hundred.

Flashed all their goggles bare,
Flashed as they cleft the air,
Smashing the people there,
Charging the people, while
    All the town wondered.
Plunged in the gasoline smoke,
Right down the street they broke;
Copper and pedestrian
Reel'd from their lightning-stroke
    Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back again,
    Rode the Four Hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made?
    All the town wondered.
Proud of the charge they made,
Proud of themselves, they said,
    Were the Four Hundred.