VISIT OF THE PRINCE OF WALES TO LAURA SECORD
NOW wherefore trembles still the string
By lyric fingers crossed,
To Laura Secord's praise and fame,
When forty years are lost?
Nay, five and forty, one by one,
Have borne her from the day
When, fired by patriotic zeal,
She trod her lonely way.
Her hair is white, her step is slow,