This Frazer sees, and thither turns his course, Bears down before them with Britannia's force, Wheels a broad column on the victor flank, And springs to vengeance thro the foremost rank. Lincoln, to meet the hero, sweeps the plain; His ready bands the laboring Starke sustain; Host matching host, the doubtful battle burns, And now the Britons, now their foes by turns Regain the ground; till Frazer feels the force Of a rude grapeshot in his flouncing horse; Nor knew the chief, till struggling from the fall, That his gored thigh had first received the ball. He sinks expiring on the slippery soil; Shock'd at the sight, his baffled troops recoil; Where Lincoln, pressing with redoubled might, Broke thro their squadrons and confirmed the flight; When this brave leader met a stunning blow, That stopt his progress and avenged the foe. He left the field; but prodigal of life, Unwearied Francis still prolong'd the strife; Till a chance carabine attained his head, And stretch'd the hero mid the vulgar dead. His near companions rush with ardent gait, Swift to revenge, but soon to share his fate; Brown, Adams, Coburn, falling side by side, Drench the chill sod with all their vital tide. Firm on the west bold Herkimer sustains The gather'd shock of all Canadia's trains; Colons and wildmen post their skulkers there, Outflank his pickets and assail his rear, Drive in his distant scouts with hideous blare, And press, on three sides close, the hovering war. Johnson's own shrieks commence the deafening din, Rouse every ambush and the storm begin. A thousand thickets, thro each opening glen, Pour forth their hunters to the chase of men; Trunks of huge trees, and rocks and ravines lend Unnumber'd batteries and their files defend; They fire, they squat, they rise, advance and fly, And yells and groans alternate rend the sky. The well aim'd hatchet cleaves the helmless head, Mute showers of arrows and loud storms of lead Rain thick from hands unseen, and sudden fling A deep confusion thro the laboring wing. But Herkimer undaunted quits the stand, Breaks in loose files his disencumbered band, Wheels on the howling glens each light-arm'd troop, And leads himself where Johnson tones his whoop, Pours thro his copse a well directed fire; The semisavage sees his tribes retire, Then follows thro the brush in full horse speed, And gains the hilltop where the Hurons lead; Here turns his courser; when a grateful sight Recals his stragglers, and restrains his flight. For Herkimer no longer now sustains The loss of blood that his faint vitals drains: A ball had pierced him ere he changed his field; The slow sure death his prudence had conceal'd, Till dark derouted foes should yield to flight, And his firm friends could finish well the fight.