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 pipes 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 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 great big guns sailed in through the foggy dew

Oh, the night fell black and the rifles' crack made perfidious Albion reel

'Neath the leaden rain, seven tongues of flame did shine o'er the lines of steel

By each shining blade, a prayer was said that to Ireland her sons be true

When the morning broke, still the war flag shook out its folds in 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 would 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, with deep amaze at those fearless men, but few

Who bore the fight that the 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 whom I never see no more

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

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