The Foggy Dew

I was down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I
 Their armored lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by
 No fife did hum nor battle drum did sound its dread tattoo
 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 by the foggy dew
 'Twas Britannia's bade our wild Geese go
 That small nations might be free
 But their lonely graves are by Silvers waves
 Or the shore of the Great North Sea
 Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugh
 Their names we will keep where the fenians sleep 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew
 But the bravest fell, and the rake wind bell rang mournfully and clear
 For those who died that Easter tide in the springing of the year
 And the world did gaze, in deeper amaze, at those fearless men, but few
 Who bore the fight that freedom's light
 Might shine through the foggy dew