Laura Secord, the heroine of 1812

It was a bold Canadian boy

That loved a winsome girl;

And he was bold as ancient knight,

She, fair as day's own pearl.

And to the greenwood they must go,

To build a home and name,

So he clasped hands with Industry,

For fortune, wealth and fame.

CHORUS

(In which all join, the leader beating time upon his knees with his fists.)

For fortune, wealth and fame,

For fortune, wealth and fame;

So he clasped hands with Industry,

For fortune, wealth and fame.

And when the jocund Spring came in,

He crowned the wedded pair.

And sent them forth with hearts elate

Their wildwood home to share.

For he had built a snug log-house,

Beneath a maple tree;

And his axe had cleared a wide domain,

While store of goods spun she.

CHORUS.

While store of goods spun she,

While store of goods spun she,

And his axe had cleared a wide domain,

While store of goods spun she.

O heard ye not of Queenston Heights,-

Of Brock who fighting fell,-

And of the Forty-ninth and York,

Who 'venged their hero well?-

And of the gallant stand they made-

What prowess kept at bay

The swelling foe, till Sheaffe appeared,

And won the glorious day!

Yet heard ye how-ban of success-

Irresolution ruled,

Till all our green peninsula

And border-land, were schooled

To bear, nathless all frowningly,

The yoke of alien power,

And wait in patience, as they might,

The dawn of happier hour.

Till Forty-mile, and Stony Creek,

Revived our waning hopes,

And round Fort-George a limit held

The Yankees as with ropes.

Yet, as do cordons oft enclose

The unwilling with the fain,

Our people, by forced parole held,

Could naught but own the rein.

Then heard ye how a little post.

Some twenty miles away,

A check upon proud Dearborn's hopes,

Was fixed upon for prey?

And how lest Britain's bull-dog pluck,

Roused by their isolation,

Should make these few, brave, lonely men,

Fight as in desperation,

And prove a match for thrice their odds,

They made them three times three,

And thrice of that, with guns to boot,

To insure a victory?

Then they would take the Night along

-No mean ally with odds,

As Stony Creek can testify:

But then she marched with gods!-

Yet blame ye not the silent Night

That she was forced to go,

For oft have captives been compelled

To serve the hated foe:

And oft with grave and quiet mien,

And Samson-like intent,

Have brought about such ends, as by

Their lords were never meant.

Then blame ye not the dark-eyed Night,

Of grave and silent mien;

Her whisper 'twas that foiled the foe,

And fired our patriot queen.