The Foggy Dew

As down the glen, one Easter morn' To a city fair, rode I There armed lines of marching men In squadrons they passed me by No fife did hum No battle drum, did sound its lowly tattoo But the Angelus Bell o'er the Liffey swell It rang out in the foggy dew And right proudly high, over Dublin town They hung out the flag of war It was better to die beneath an Irish sky Than at Sulva or Sud-El-Bar And from the plains of Royal Meath Strong men came marching through And Brittania's Huns, with their long range guns Sailed into the foggy dew Well the night drew black, and the rifle crack Made 'Perfidious Albion' reel Through the leaden rain, seven tongues of flame They rang out over lines of steel And unto every blade, a prayer I'd said That, "to Ireland, oh young men be true" Oh, and when morning broke, well, the war flag Shook out its folds all in the foggy dew It was England bade our Wild Geese go So, "small nations might be free" But their lowly graves are by Suvla's waves On the fringes of the great North Sea But had they died by Pearse's side Or fought with Cathal Brugha Well, their names we will keep where the Fenians sleep Under the shroud of the foggy dew Well, the bravest fell, and the requiem bell Rang mournfully and free For those men who died on that Eastertide At the Springtime of the year And as the world did gaze in grief and amaze At those gallant men, but few Who bore the fight, so that freedom's light Might shine in through the foggy dew Then back o'er the glen, I rode again And my heart with grief, it was sore For I parted then, with gallant men That I never will see no more And to and fro in my dream I go I kneel and I say a prayer for you Oh, and slavery fled, ye gallant dead When you fell in the foggy dew Oh, and slavery fled, ye gallant dead When you died in the foggy dew