The Foggy Dew -----
As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I,
where armed lines of proudly marching men in squadrons passed me by.
No pipes did hum no battle drum did sound it's loud tatoo.
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey swell rang out in the foggy dew.
Right proudly high in Dublin town they hoisted up the
flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky that at Suvle 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
Oh the night fell black and the rifles' crack made "Perfidious Albion" reel
'Mid the leaden rain seven tongues of flame did shine o'er the lines of steel
By each shining blade a prayer was said that to Ireland her sons be true
When the morning broke still the war flag shook out its folds in the foggy dew
'Twas England bade our Wild Geese go so that small nations might be free
But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves or the fringe of the Great North Sea
Oh had they died by Pearse'e side or had fought with Cathal Brugha
Their names we'd keep where the Fenians sleep 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew
But the bravest fell and the requiem bell rang out mournfully and clear
For those who died that water tide in the springtime of the year
While 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
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