As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I
There armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by
No pipe did hum nor 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 the 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 Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns sailed in through the foggy dew
'Twas Brittania bade our wild geese go, that "small nations might be free";
Their lonely graves are by Suvla bay or the shores of the great North Sea.
But had they died by Pearse's side or 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 mournfully and clear
For those who died that Easter tide in the spring time of the year
And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few,
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew
As 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 kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when you fell in the foggy Dew.