The Foggy Dew

As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I

There Armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by

No pipe did hum, no battle drum did sound its loud tattoo

But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey's swell rang out through the foggy dew

Right proudly high over Dublin Town they flung out the flag of war

'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Suvla or Sud-El-Bar

And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through

While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns sailed in through the foggy dew

'Twas England bade our wild geese go, that "small nations might be free"

But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves on the fringe of the great North Sea

Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha

Their names we'd keep where the Fenians sleep, 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew

Oh the bravest fell, and the Requiem bell rang mournfully and clear

For those who died that Eastertide in the spring time of the year

While the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few

Who bore the fight that the freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew

And through the glen I rode again, my heart with grief was sore

For I parted with those valiant men that I'll never see no more

But to and fro in my dreams I go and I kneel and pray for you

For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when you fell in the foggy dew