The Foggy Dew

I was down the glen one Easter morn

To a city fair rode I.

There armed lines of marching men

In squadrons passed me by.

No pipe did hum, no battle drum did sound it's loud tattoo.

But the Angelus Bells o'er the Liffey swells rang out in the foggy dew.

Right proudly high in Dublin town

Hung they out a flag of war.

'Twas better to die 'neath that Irish sky

Than at Sulva or Sud el Bar.

And from the plains of Royal Meath

Strong men came hurrying through

While Brittania's huns with their long range guns

Sailed in through the foggy dew.

Their bravest fell and the requiem bell

Rang mournfully and clear

For those who died that Eastertide in the

Springing of the year.

While the world did gaze with deep amaze

At those fearless men but few.

Who bore the fight that freedom's light

Might shine through the foggy dew.

And 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 n'more.

But to and fro in my dreams I go

And I kneel and pray for you.

For slavery fled the glorious dead

When you fell in the foggy dew.