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 in the foggy dew
Right proudly high over Dublin Town they hung 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
Their lonely graves are by Suvla’s waves or 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 freedom’s light might shine through the foggy dew
Back through the glen I rode again, my heart with grief was sore
For I parted with those valiant men that I’ll never see 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