The Longest Odds Poem by Jessie Pope

Leonidas of Sparta, years gone by,
With but a bare three hundred of his braves,
In the ravine of famed Thermopylae
Held up the Persian army's endless waves.
Smiling, among the forest of his spears,
'Lay down your arms, the haughty Xerxes cried.
The Spartan's answer echoes down the years,
'Come here and take them !' So they fought, and died.

Horatius the odds grow longer now
With two bold friends, Lars Porsena defied.
That dauntless trio registered a vow
To hold the bridge that stemmed the Tiber's tide.
Their deed of valour makes our bosoms glow,
A deed which poets and chroniclers relate.
Three heroes held in check a bitter foe
And saved their city from a cruel fate.

One Highlander the longest odds of all
One man alone, when all the rest were slain,
Carried the Maxim through the bullet squall,
And set it spitting at the foe again.
Under its hail the Germans broke, they fled.
One man, one gun, and yet they would not stay !
Riddled with shot, his comrades found him dead.
Dead? No! That Hieland laddie lives for aye.