The Foggy Dew

As down the glen one Easter morn To a city fair rode I. There armoured lines of marching men In squadrons passed me by. No pipe did hum, no battle drum Did sound its dread tattoo But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffy swells Rang out neath the foggy dew. Right proudly high over Dublin town They hung out that 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. twas Britannias bade our wild geese go That small nations might be free. Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves On the fringe of the grey North Sea. But had they died by Pearse's side Or fought with Cathal Bruagh, Their names we would keep where the Fenian's sleep 'Neath the shroud of the foggy dew. But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell Rang mournfully and clear For those who died that Eastertide In the spring time of the year. While the world did gaze in deep amaze At those fearless men but few Who bore the fight that freedom's light Might shine through the foggy dew.