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| ON the bloody field of Monmouth | |
| Flashed the guns of Greene and Wayne, | |
| Fiercely roared the tide of battle, | |
| Thick the sward was heaped with slain. | |
| Foremost, facing death and danger, | 5 |
| Hessian, horse, and grenadier, | |
| In the vanguard, fiercely fighting, | |
| Stood an Irish Cannonier. | |
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| Loudly roared his iron cannon, | |
| Mingling ever in the strife, | 10 |
| And beside him, firm and daring, | |
| Stood his faithful Irish wife. | |
| Of her bold contempt of danger | |
| Greene and Lee’s Brigades could tell, | |
| Every one knew “Captain Molly,” | 15 |
| And the army loved her well. | |
| |
| Surged the roar of battle round them, | |
| Swiftly flew the iron hail, | |
| Forward dashed a thousand bayonets, | |
| That lone battery to assail. | 20 |
| From the foeman’s foremost columns | |
| Swept a furious fusillade, | |
| Mowing down the massed battalions | |
| In the ranks of Greene’s Brigade. | |
| |
| Fast and faster worked the gunner, | 25 |
| Soiled with powder, blood, and dust, | |
| English bayonets shone before him, | |
| Shot and shell around him burst; | |
| Still he fought with reckless daring, | |
| Stood and manned her long and well, | 30 |
| Till at last the gallant fellow | |
| Dead—beside his cannon fell. | |
| |
| With a bitter cry of sorrow, | |
| And a dark and angry frown, | |
| Looked that band of gallant patriots | 35 |
| At their gunner stricken down. | |
| “Fall back, comrades, it is folly | |
| Thus to strive against the foe.” | |
| “No! not so,” cried Irish Molly, | |
| “We can strike another blow.” * * * * * | 40 |
| Quickly leaped she to the cannon, | |
| In her fallen husband’s place, | |
| Sponged and rammed it fast and steady, | |
| Fired it in the foeman’s face. | |
| Flashed another ringing volley, | 45 |
| Roared another from the gun; | |
| “Boys, hurrah!” cried gallant Molly, | |
| “For the flag of Washington.” | |
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| Greene’s Brigade, though torn and shattered, | |
| Slain and bleeding half their men, | 50 |
| When they heard that Irish slogan, | |
| Turned and charged the foe again. | |
| Knox and Wayne and Morgan rally, | |
| To the front they forward wheel, | |
| And before their rushing onset | 55 |
| Clinton’s English columns reel. | |
| |
| Still the cannon’s voice in anger | |
| Rolled and rattled o’er the plain, | |
| Till there lay in swarms around it | |
| Mangled heaps of Hessian slain. | 60 |
| “Forward! charge them with the bayonet!” | |
| ’T was the voice of Washington, | |
| And there burst a fiery greeting | |
| From the Irish woman’s gun. | |
| |
| Monckton falls; against his columns | 65 |
| Leap the troops of Mayne and Lee, | |
| And before their reeking bayonets | |
| Clinton’s red battalions flee. | |
| Morgan’s rifles, fiercely flashing, | |
| Thin the foe’s retreating ranks, | 70 |
| And behind them onward dashing | |
| Ogden hovers on their flanks. | |
| |
| Fast they fly, these boasting Britons, | |
| Who in all their glory came, | |
| With their brutal Hessian hirelings | 75 |
| To wipe out our country’s name. | |
| Proudly floats the starry banner, | |
| Monmouth’s glorious field is won, | |
| And in triumph Irish Molly | |
| Stands beside her smoking gun. | 80 |
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