The Foggy Dew
'Twas down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I.
When 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 bells o'er the Liffey's swells
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 Brittania's sons 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
On the fringe of the grey North Sea.
O had they died by Pearse's side
Or fought with Gathal Brugha,
Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep
'Neath the shroud of the foggy dew.
O bravest fell, and the requiem bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide
In the spring time of the year.
And the world did gaze with deep amaze
At those fearless men and true
Who bore the fight that freedom's light
Might shine through the foggy dew.
Back down through the glen I rode again
My heart with grief was sore
For I parted with those valiant men
That I'll never will see nomore
But to and fro in my dreams I'll go
And I'll kneel and pray for you
For slavery fled, O glorious dead
When you fell in the foggy dew…