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

fife did hum nor battle drum did sound it's dread tatoo

But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey

swell rang out through 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 Sulva 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 Britannia bade our Wild Geese go that small nations might be

free But their lonely graves are by Sulva's waves or the shore of the

Great North Sea Oh,

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

names we will keep where the fenians sleep 'neath the shroud of the

foggy dew But the bravest fell,

and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear For those who died

that Eastertide in the springing of the year And 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

Ah, 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 more

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

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