But if o’ertaken by an adverse fate, And thy dreams of greatness fade away, Front thou the storm and battle’s fiery rage; Yield but to death--death’s lurid, fatal day! If all thy years should lead by lowly ways, Where wealth and fame ne’er ope their shining wings, Be comforted, do thy humble duty well, In heaven thou mayst be honored more than kings. LAURA SECORD; OR, THE BATTLE OF BEAVER DAMS. FOUGHT JUNE 24TH, 1813. BRITISH, 47 REGULARS AND 200 INDIANS AMERICANS, 570, WITH 50 CAVALRY AND 2 GUNS. She knew, and her heart beat faster, The foe would march that day; And resolved, though only a woman, To silently steal away And warn the outpost at Beaver Dams; Alone, and on foot, to go Through the dim and awesome forest, To evade the vigilant foe. No one thought of a woman, And she gained a path she knew In the lonesome, stately forest, And over the dark way flew. On and on with a beating heart, And never a pause for rest; Twenty miles of dim and distance, And the sun low down the west. Startled sometimes to terror By the blood-curdling cry Of wolves from the faint far distance, And sometimes nearer by; And hollow sounds and whispers That rose from the forest deep; Ghostly and phantom voices That caused her nerves to creep. But she pauses not, nor falters, But presses along the way; Noiselessly through the distance, Through the shadows weird and gray. In time must the warning be given, She must not, must not fail; Though rough is the path and toilsome, Her courage must prevail. “To arms! to arms, FitzGibbon!” Came a woman’s thrilling cry; “Lose not a precious moment-- The foe! the foe is nigh!” And a woman pale and weary Burst on the startled sight; Out from the dark awesome forest, Out of the shadowy night. “They come! they come, six hundred strong, Stealing upon you here! But I, a weak woman, tell you, Prepare and have no fear.” The handful of British heroes Resolve the outpost to save, With the aid of two hundred Indians, Allies cunning and brave. Still as death the line is waiting The onset of the foe; And the summer winds make whisper In the foliage soft and low. “Ready!” and each heart beat faster; “Fire low, and without fear.” And they fired a crashing volley, And gave a defiant cheer. Staggered by the deadly missiles, That like a mighty blow, Fell swift on the line advancing, Fell on the astonished foe. And for two long, desperate hours The furious fight raged there; Till the foemen, foiled and beaten, Surrendered in despair.