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