to guard the bridge at the farther end, while all the rest of the warriors were breaking down the timbers behind them. "And Fathers, mixed with commons, Meanwhile the Tuscan army, Came flashing back the noonday light, As that great host, with measured tread, "The three stood calm and silent, They laughed to see three men standing to meet the whole army; but it was so narrow a space, that no more than three enemies could attack them at once, and it was not easy to match them. Foe after foe came forth against them, and went down before their swords and spears, till at last "Was none that would be foremost To lead such dire attack; However, the supports of the bridge had been destroyed. "But meanwhile axe and lever And now the bridge hangs tottering 'Come back, come back, Horatius ! Loud cried the Fathers all; 'Back, Lartius! back, Herminius! Back darted Spurius Lartius, Herminius darted back ; And as they passed, beneath their feet They felt the timbers crack; But when they turn'd their faces, "But with a crash like thunder Was splash'd the yellow foam." The one last champion, behind a rampart of dead enemies, remained till the destruction was complete. "Alone stood brave Horatius, But constant still in mind, Thrice thirty thousand foes before A dart had put out one eye, he was wounded in the thigh, and his work was done. He turned round, and— And with this brief prayer he leapt into the foaming Polybius was told that he was there drowned; but stream. Livy gives the version which the ballad follows: "But fiercely ran the current, Swollen high by months of rain, And heavy with his armour, And spent with changing blows, And oft they thought him sinking, "Never, I ween, did swimmer, Struggle through such a raging flood But his limbs were borne up bravely And our good father Tiber "And now he feels the bottom, And now with shouts and clapping, And there it stands unto this day, "It stands in the Comitium, And underneath is written, How valiantly he kept the bridge In the brave days of old." Never was more honourable surname than was his, of Cocles, or the one-eyed; and though his lameness prevented him from ever being a Consul, or leading an army, he was so much beloved and honoured by his fellow-citizens, that in the time of a famine each Roman, to the number of 300,000, brought him a day's food, lest he should suffer want. The statue was shown even in the time of Pliny, 600 years afterwards, and was probably only destroyed when Rome was sacked by the barbarians. Nor was the Roman bridge the only one that has been defended by one man against a host. In our own country, Stamford bridge was, in like manner, guarded by a single brave Northman, after the battle fought A.D. 1066, when Earl Tostig, the son of Godwin, had persuaded the gallant sea king, Harald Hardrada, to come and invade England. The chosen English king, Harold, had marched at full speed from Sussex to Yorkshire, and met the invaders marching at their ease, without expecting any enemy, and wearing no defensive armour, as they went forth to receive the keys of the city of York. The battle was fought by the Norsemen in the full certainty that it must be lost. The banner, "Landwaster," was planted in the midst and the king, chanting his last song, like the minstrel warrior he had always been, stood, with his bravest men, in a death-ring around it. There he died, and his choicest warriors with him; but many more fled back towards the ships, rushing over the few planks that were the only way across the river Ouse. And here stood their defender, alone upon the bridge, keeping back the whole pursuing English army, who could only attack him one at a time; until, with shame be it spoken, he died by a cowardly blow from an enemy, who had crept down the bank of the river, and under the bridge, 'through the openings between the timbers of which he thrust up his spear, and thus was able to hurl the brave Northman into the river, mortally wounded, but not till great numbers of his countrymen had reached their ships, their lives saved by his gallantry. In like manner, Robert Bruce, in the time of his wanderings, during the year 1306, saved his whole band by his sole exertions. He had been defeated by the forces of Edward I. at Methven, and had lost many of his friends. His little army went wandering among the hills, sometimes encamping in the woods, sometimes crossing the lakes in small boats. Many ladies were among them, and their summer life had some wild charms of romance; as the knightly huntsmen brought in the salmon, the roe, and the deer that formed their food, and the ladies gathered the flowering heather, over which soft skins were laid for their bedding. Sir James Douglas was the most courtly and graceful knight of all the party, and ever kept them enlivened by his gay temper and ready wit; and the king himself cherished a few precious romances, which he used to read aloud to his followers as they rested in their mountain home. But their bitter foe, the Lord of Lorn, was always in pursuit of them, and, near the head of the Tay, he came upon the small army of 300 men with 1,000 Highlanders, armed with Lochaber axes, at a place which is still called Dalry, or the King's Field. Many of the horses were killed by the axes; and James Douglas and Gilbert de la Haye were both wounded. All would have been slain or fallen into the hands of the enemy, if Robert Bruce had not sent them all on before him, up a narrow, steep path, and placed himself, with his armour and heavy horse, full in the path, protecting the retreat with his single arm. It was true, that so tall and powerful a man, sheathed in armour and on horseback, had a great advantage against the wild Highlanders, who only wore a shirt and a plaid, with a round target upon the arm; but they were lithe, active, light-footed men, able to climb like goats on the crags around him, and holding their lives as cheaply as he did. Lorn, watching him from a distance, was struck with amazement, and exclaimed, "Methinks, Marthokson, he resembles Gol Mak Morn protecting his followers from Fingal;" thus comparing him to one of the most brilliant champions a Highland imagination could conceive. At last, three men, named M'Androsser, rushed forward, resolved to free their chief from this formidable enemy. There was a lake on one side, and a precipice on the other, and the king had hardly space to manage his horse, when all three sprang on him at once. One snatched his bridle, one caught him by the stirrup and leg, and a third leaped from a rising ground and seated himself behind him on his horse. The first lost his arm by one sweep of the king's sword; the second was overthrown and trampled on; and the last, by a desperate struggle, was dashed down, and his skull cleft by the king's sword; but his dying grasp was so tight upon the plaid, that Bruce was forced to unclasp the brooch that secured it, and leave both in the dead man's hold. It was long preserved by the Macdougals of Lorn, as a trophy of the narrow escape of their enemy. Nor must we leave Robert the Bruce without mentioning that other Golden Deed, more truly noble because more full of mercy; namely, his halting his little army in full retreat in Ireland in the face of the English host under Roger Mortimer, that proper care and attendance might be given to one sick and suffering washerwoman and her new-born babe. Well may his old Scotch rhyming chronicler remark : "This was a full great courtesy That swilk a king and so mighty, |