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