On our arms so heavily sleeping, careless watch our sentries keeping, Ready to renew the contest when the dawning day should show; Worn with toil and heat, in slumber soon were wrapt our greatest number, Seeking strength to rise again and fall upon the wearied foe; For we felt his power was broken! but what rage was ours outspoken When, on waking at the dawn, he had gone. In the midnight still and sombre, while our force was wrapt in slumber, Clinton set his train in motion, sweeping fast to Sandy Hook; Safely from our blows he bore his mingled Britons, Hessians, Tories-- Bore away his wounded soldiers, but his useless dead forsook; Fleeing from a worse undoing, and too far for our pursuing: So we found the field our own, and alone. How that stirring day comes o'er me! How those scenes arise before me! How I feel a youthful vigor for a moment fill my frame! Those who fought beside me seeing, from the dim past brought to being, By their hands I fain would clasp them--ah! each lives but in a name; But the freedom that they fought for, and the country grand they wrought for, Is their monument to-day, and for aye. THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH. The most famous incident of the fight, next to Washington's encounter with Lee, is the exploit of a camp follower named Molly Pitcher or Molly McGuire. She was a sturdy, red-haired, freckle-faced Irishwoman, and during the battle was engaged in carrying water to her husband, who was a cannoneer. A bullet killed him at his post and Molly, seizing his rammer as it fell, sprang to take his place. She served the gun with skill and courage, and on the following morning, covered with dirt and blood, she was presented by General Greene to Washington, who conferred upon her a sergeant's commission. MOLLY PITCHER [June 28, 1778] 'Twas hurry and scurry at Monmouth town, For Lee was beating a wild retreat; The British were riding the Yankees down, And panic was pressing on flying feet. Galloping down like a hurricane Washington rode with his sword swung high, Mighty as he of the Trojan plain Fired by a courage from the sky. "Halt, and stand to your guns!" he cried. And a bombardier made swift reply. Wheeling his cannon into the tide, He fell 'neath the shot of a foeman nigh. Molly Pitcher sprang to his side, Fired as she saw her husband do. Telling the king in his stubborn pride Women like men to their homes are true. Washington rode from the bloody fray Up to the gun that a woman manned. "Molly Pitcher, you saved the day," He said, as he gave her a hero's hand. He named her sergeant with manly praise, While her war-brown face was wet with tears-- A woman has ever a woman's ways, And the army was wild with cheers. KATE BROWNLEE SHERWOOD. MOLLY PITCHER