The foggy dew 4/4

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1. As down the glen one Easter morn', to a city fair rode I,
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there armoured lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by.
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No pipe did hum, no battle drum did sound it's loud tattoo,
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but the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey swell,
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rang out through the foggy dew.

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2. Right proudly high in Dublin town they hung out the flag of war,
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'twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Sulva or Sud el Bar.
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And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through,
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while Brittania's Huns, with their great big guns,
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sailed in through the foggy dew.

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3. 'Twas England bade our Wild Geese go,
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that small nations might be free,
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but their lonely graves are by Sulva's waves
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on the fringes of the great North Sea.
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Oh had they died by Pearse's side
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or had they fought with Cathal Brugha.
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Their names we keep, where the Fenians sleep,
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'neath the shroud of the foggy dew.

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4. But the bravest fell and the Requiem bell rang mournfully and clear,
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for those who died that Easter tide, in the springtime of the year.
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While the world did gaze with deep amaze,
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at those fearless men but few,
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who bore that fight, that freedom's light
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might shine through the foggy dew.

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5. And back through the glen I rode again
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and my heart with grief was sore,
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for I parted then with most valiant men that I na'er shall see more.
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But two and fro in my dreams I'll go and I'll kneel and pray for you,
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for slavery fled our glorious dead,
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when you fell in the foggy dew.