I was down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I
When an armed line of marching men in squadrons passed me by
No pipe did hum, no battle drum did sound its loud tattoo
But the Angelus Bells o'er the Liffey swell rang out in the foggy dew
Right proudly high, oh,
the Dublin town they hung out thethe flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Sulva or Sud el Bar
And from the plains of Royal Meath brave 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
In 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
and when morning broke,
the war flag shook out its folds in the foggy dew
Oh, their bravest fell and the solemn bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the springing 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
Back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see more
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I sing and I think of you,
For slavery fled both living and dead when you fell in the foggy dew.
When you fell in the foggy dew.

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS