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
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 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
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 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.