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 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 sons with their long-range guns
Sailed in from the foggy dew.

The bravest fell, and the requiem 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.

And to and fro in my dreams I go
And I kneel and pray for you.
Oh, those who bled for glorious dead
When you fell in the foggy dew.
Down the glen, I rode again
And my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with those valiant men
Whom I never shall see more.
And to and fro in my dreams I go
And I kneel and pray for you.
Oh, those who bled for glorious dead
When you fell in the foggy dew.