The Foggy Dew

'Twas down the glen one Easter morn

To a city fair rode I.

When armed line of marching men

In squadrons passed me by.

No pipes did hum, no battle drum

Did sound its loud tattoo

But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey's swell

Rang out in the foggy dew.

Right proudly high over Dublin town

They hung 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 great big guns

Sailed in through the foggy dew.

O' the night fell black and the rifles' crack

Made "Perfidious Abion" reel

'Mid the leaden rail, seven tongues of flame

Did shine o'er the lines of steel.

By each shining blade a prayer was siad

That to Ireland her sons be true,

And when morning broke still the war flag shook

Out its fold in the foggy dew

'Twas England bade our wild geese go

That small nations might be free.

But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves

On the fringe of the gray North Sea.

But had they died by Pearse's side

Or fought with Cathal Brugha,

Their names we'd keep where the Fenians sleep

'Neath the shroud of the foggy dew.

The bravest fell, and the solemn bell

Rang mournfully and clear

For those who died that Watertide

In the springing of the year.

And 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.

Ah, 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'd kneel and pray for you,

For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when

you fell in the foggy dew.