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 pipe did hum, no battle drum

Did sound its 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 an Irish sky

Than at Suvla 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.

The bravest fell, and the requiem bell

Rang mournfully and clear

For those who died that Easter-tide

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 more

But to and fro

In my dreams I go

And I kneel and pray for you

For slavery fled

Oh, glorious dead

When you fell in the foggy dew