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THE FOGGY DEW

'Twas down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I
When Ireland's line of marching men
In squadrons passed me by
No pipe did hum, no battle drum
Did sound it dread 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 long-range guns
Sailed in from the foggy dew

'Twas England 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 Bruga
Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep
'Neath the hills of the foggy dew

The bravest fell, and the solemn bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide
In the springing of the year
And the world did gaze in deep amaze
At those fearless men and true
Who bore the fight that freedom's light
Might shine through the foggy dew


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