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