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Foggy Dew

– Trad.

It was down the glen one Easter morn‘
To a city fair rode I
When Ireland’s lines of marching men
In squadrons passed me by
No pipe did hum, no battle drum
Did sound sound its dread tatoo
But the Angelus bell over Liffey’s swell
Rang out in the foggy dew

Right proudly high over Dublin town
They hung out a flag of war
lt was 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 Britania’s Sons with their longrange guns
Sailed in from the foggy dew

It was 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 Valera true
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 Easter tide
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