The Foggy Dew

I was 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 it’s loud tattoo.
But the Angelus Bells o’er the Liffey swells rang out in the foggy dew.
Right proudly high in Dublin town
Hung they out a flag of war.
'Twas better to die 'neath that Irish sky
Than at Sulva or Sud el Bar.
And from the plains of Royal Meath
Strong men came hurrying through
While Brittania’s huns with their long range guns
Sailed in through the foggy dew.
Their bravest fell and the requiem bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the
Springing of the year.
While the world did gaze with deep amaze
At those fearless men but few.
Who bore the fight that freedom’s light
Might shine through the foggy dew.
And back through the glen
I rode again.
And my heart with grief was sore.
For I parted then with valiant men
Whom I never shall see n’more.
But to and fro in my dreams I go And I kneel and pray for you.
For slavery fled the glorious dead
When you fell in the foggy dew.