The Foggy Dew

The Foggy Dew

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'Twas down the glen one Easter morn

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To a city fair rode I.

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When Ireland's line of marching men

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In squadrons passed me by.

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No pipe did hum, no battle drum

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Did sound its dread tattoo

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But the Angelus bell oler the Liffey's swell

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Rang out in the foggy dew.

6o - overblow

Right proudly high over Dublin Town 
they hung out the 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 Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns 
sailed in through the foggy dew

'Twas England bade our wild geese go, 
that "small nations might be free";
Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves 
or the fringe of the great North Sea.
Oh, had they died by Pearse's side 
or fought with Cathal Brugha*
Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep, 
'neath the shroud of the foggy dew.

Oh the night fell black, and the rifles' crack 
made perfidious Albion reel
In the leaden rain, seven tongues of flame 
did shine o'er the lines of steel
By each shining blade a prayer was said, 
that to Ireland her sons be true
But when morning broke, still the war flag shook 
out its folds in the foggy dew

Oh the bravest fell, and the Requiem bell 
rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide 
in the spring time of the year
And 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

As 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, O glorious dead, 
when you fell in the foggy dew.