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 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 flung out the flang 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 great big guns sailed in through the foggy dew
Oh, the night fell black and the rifles' crack made "Perfidious Abion" reel
'Mid the leaden rail, 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 still the war flag shook out its fold in the foggy dew
'Twas England bade our wild geese go that small nations might be free
But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves or the fring of the Great North Sea
Oh had they died by Pearse's 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 mournfully and clear
For those who died at Eastertide in the springing of the year
While the world did gaze in deep amaze at those fearless men but few
Who bore that 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'll never see more
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I'd kneel and pray for you
For slavery fled, oh glorious dead, when you fell in the foggy dew